


Stepfather, Stepdad, Stepdaddy

by WordsAreMusicForTheEyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Awkward Sexual Situations, Daddy Issues, Dean is definitely not appropriate stepfather material but you stopped caring..., F/M, Forget about a father-daughter relationship, I guess..., I love how many 'sexual' tags I've put in this..., Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Sexy Dean, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything, Virgin Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes/pseuds/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your mother decides it's time for you to meet the man she's begun a serious relationship with, inviting him to stay for the duration of your summer vacation so you can bond with him. Unsurprisingly, given your past experiences with 'father figures', you are deeply sceptical about your mom's plan and opt to keep your distance from the guy.  But when Dean Winchester comes swaggering into your life, things take a pleasantly unexpected turn; you find yourself growing close to your prospective stepfather.</p>
<p>However, the relationship does not remain 'familial' for long, turning what you thought would be a regular summer vacation into the plot of the most sordid erotic tale...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to Hell for writing this (especially as it progresses) but the idea came into my head and I just couldn't shift it. Please nobody hate me for this :3
> 
> First off, Reader is definitely eighteen years old (legal age in most parts of America, I believe? It's different over here in Britain, so I'm still a bit vague), because I personally feel uncomfortable depicting a sexual relationship between an adult in his thirties and an underage girl. Given the nature of this fic, it's already in questionable territory, so I didn't want to throw too much controversy into the mix (look at me, getting all prudish and proper XD).
> 
> Also, I do apologise if anyone feels unhappy about me using Dean for this but....he's just such a good inspiration for kinky, 'stepdad' smutty fics....I couldn't stop myself! :s
> 
> Most importantly though, please enjoy and don't be shy about offering feedback, whether it be positive or constructive criticism. I understand the subject might be uncomfortable for some, and I don't want to be upsetting anyone if this happens to trigger bad feelings, so please let me know and I'll just scrap this. Causing any upset is the absolute last thing I want to do <3
> 
> Love to you all, groovy beans <3

Lounging back on the sofa, you were scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed on your phone, looking for something that did not comprise of banal commentary or pretentious, ironic humour. All the while, your mom was quickly adjusting a few locks of hair and checking over her make-up.

"Hun, I think you'll really like him. He's fun, really laid back and great to talk to-"

"Oh wow, he really sounds like someone you should date, Mom," you remarked sarcastically. Your mom looked round at you, and cocked an eyebrow at you, resting her hands on her waist.

"Are you going to be snarky all evening, [Y/N]?"

"No. Just the majority of it," you quipped, grinning malignly up at her from your lazing spot on the couch.

"Your wit astounds me," she rolled her eyes, scoffing at you affectionately. She came across to you, hoisted your legs up and settled herself on the couch, allowing you to stretch your legs across her lap. "Why are you so reluctant to meet Dean, honey?" Your mom finally broached the subject, looking at you searchingly. You lay your phone on your stomach and began fiddling with a lock of your hair, not quite meeting your mother's eye.

"Is it because of....your dad?" She asked, struggling to speak the words. You gave an exasperated groan.

"Well, he hasn't been an especially inspiring role model," you sighed, "But not _**all**_ my problems with men are to do with him."

"His actions didn't really leave you with a good impression?" Your mom pointed out.

"Not particularly, but impressions ought to fade in time, not linger. As a wise person once said, even the deepest of ass dents in a couch must vanish," you touched your middle fingers to your thumbs and narrowed your eyes, giving the illusion of a sage elder imparting words of wisdom.

 

"That's a hell of an analogy," your mom commented.

"Believe me, I have plenty more," you told her.

"I don't doubt it," she chuckled, "But really, [Y/N], what bothers you? What makes you so....uncomfortable?"

"Ah, lack of confidence, mainly. Men terrify me. Scary penises, yuck yuck," you added childishly.

"So....maybe having a father figure in your life could help? Y'know, reinforce you positively?"

"Mom, I'm eighteen. The ship of insecurity has sailed, it has ventured into the yonder," you swept your hand out in a theatrical gesture.

"Maybe Dean could help reel it back in?"

"Mom, this is sailing not fishing. Stick to the metaphor," you replied impishly.

"Fine, maybe Dean could...set sail and navigate his way across your oceans to find the ship?"

"Why are you talking about ships, Mom? This is a serious matter," you quickly retorted, "And please, don't talk about the guy you're dating 'navigating my oceans', it sounds weird."

"Oh my God, you're stonewalling so hard," your mother gaped at you.

"Pfft, me? Stonewall? Lies! Lies and subterfuge!" You declared, a massive grin spreading across your face.

"Stonewall-er!" Your mother protested, reaching forward and tickling you as though you were a little kid again. Of course, like a little kid, you doubled up in a fit of squealing laughter.

"No, Mom! No! I surrender! Time out! Have mercy!" You shrieked, your phone tumbling onto the floor with a dull thud. "Mommy, no!"

 

She tickled you until you were breathless from laughter and hanging off of the sofa, making a range of beseeching noises. There was the vague sound of a deep, rumbling engine from outside and your mom sprang up. "He's here, [Y/N], he's here!" She announced like an excited schoolgirl. Patting your hip frantically, she urged you to come to the front door with her to gret Dean.

"He's your boyfriend, Mom," you grumbled, rolling off the sofa and landing on the carpeted floor unceremoniously, "Do I have to greet him with a kiss, huh?"

"No just...be there! Say 'hello', be sociable!" She insisted.

"You say that like I'm some sort of recluse?" You heaved yourself up from the floor, tidying your hair and clothes.

"That's a trick question," she rallied.

"Shots have been fired," you held your hands up.

"You sure as hell didn't inherit your sass from your father," she reminded you, opening the front door and standing with one hand resting on the frame, posing elegantly for her 'beau'. You peered outside and caught sight of a gleaming, black car; an older model, but looking just as gorgeous as any modern car you'd ever seen.

 _ **So he has good taste in cars, that's a good start. Let's see what else he's got going for him,**_ you silently speculated.

"He-lo, sweet stuff," you heard a deep, slightly gruff voice greet your mother, and the sound of approaching bootsteps. A radiant smile lit your mother's face and she jumped on the spot in a girlish fashion. It'd been a while since someone had made her feel like that, so you couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness for her. Taking a few steps back, you leant against the banister of the staircase, ready to appraise this guy. You didn't want to appear to eager and open to his attempts at winning you over, nor did you want to come off as hostile. Bracing yourself, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the moment this man would step into your life.

 

As soon as he came into view, you were met with a most pleasantly surprising sight. Dean was one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen; rugged looks, tawny hair, strong physique. You could _**more**_ than understand why your mom was so head-over-heels for him. To complete this vision of perfection, he appeared to be laden with three, small boxes of pizza and carrying a weighty, shopping bag.

"How's it goin', sweetheart?" Dean kissed your mother tenderly on the mouth.

"Great, I'm looking forward to our meal together," she replied with sincere enthusiasm, stepping to the side to let Dean enter the house.

"I've got us some pizza and a whole bunch o' junk food in this goodie bag," Dean informed you all cheerfully, shaking the shopping bag proudly. His eyes soon fell onto you and his face split into a gorgeous smile, "Hey there, princess, you must be [Y/N]. Nice to meet ya at last, your mom's told me all about ya. Only the good stuff, though, so don't worry." He added with chuckle, drawing a soft giggle from your mother.

You were damn near speechless in the presence of this Adonis, so you hummed and hawed for the briefest moment before forming a coherent sentence, "I-oh, it's nice to meet you too, Dean," you answered shyly, looking into green eyes. He was definitely older, somewhere in his mid- to- late thirties, judging by the few wrinkles on the outer corners of his eyes. It didn't seem to make much of a difference, he was still absolutely jaw-dropping. Realising you were staring at him, you glanced away before offering your hand, wondering if that would be the polite way to properly greet him.

That was until you also remembered his hands were occupied. He looked down at your hand before flashing you a crooked smile.

 "Oh, God, sorry," you muttered awkwardly, shrinking back. _**Idiot, idiot, idiot,**_ you berated yourself.

"Hey, don't worry about it, princess. C'mon," Dean managed to twist around the hand holding the base of the pizza boxes, keeping them balanced in the crook of his arm, and balled it into a fist. "Fist bump me, c'mon."

With a timid giggle, you gently bumped your knuckles against his. Dean mimed a small explosion with his hand.

"Sweet, way better than a handshake, huh?"

"Ah, yeah, it is," was all you could say. _**Great, I'm gonna be a babbling ninny around my mom's boyfriend,**_ you couldn't help but think.

 

"She's not usually this quiet," your mom remarked. You flashed her a reproachful look.

"Thanks, Mom," you retorted, winning a burst of laughter from Dean.

"It's alright, meetin' new people is weird. You'll be comfortable around me in no time, honest," he assured you, winking playfully at you. Dean oozed confidence and...something you couldn't quite describe. His looks, his manner, they were stirring some odd feelings within you. They were far from negative feelings, but you knew they were inappropriate all the same.

"Okay, if you wanna bring the stuff into the kitchen, Dean, we can get the table set?" Your mom nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Awesome, I'm lookin' forward to havin' me some pizza!" He whooped, as your mother pattered off towards the kitchen. Before following her in suit, taking advantage of the momentary privacy, he told you warmly, "[Y/N], I really do hope we get comfortable with each other. I don't want any bad blood between us, you seem like a real sweetheart. It'd be cool if we could be, like, I dunno- close, I guess?"

"Not at all, I'd like that too, Dean," you beamed up at him, boosted by his evident fondness towards you, "You seem like a really nice guy. I bet we'll be close before the week's out." You got the confidence to say to him. Slightly nervous about how he'd react, you prepared yourself for a strange look to be thrown your way. Instead, he responded with yet another crooked smile, the gaze of his eyes shifting in a questing manner across your face.

"I sure hope so," was his smooth reply.


	2. A Good Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read so far and to those who've commented! I'm glad this hasn't left any bad impressions (as far as I know) :D
> 
> So, as is expected, chapter two, my groovy beans! <3
> 
> Also, excuse the very specific details (reader's ambitions for college and her hobbies), I decided to do that as leaving it open would have made for very bland, generic dialogue. So if anyone dislikes the activities mentioned or doesn't partake in them, please don't be cross :3 it was purely for the fic. I understand it can be a little irritating to have details in a reader-insert that are so far removed from your own lives it makes the story almost unreadable, but I hope you can make an exception for this fic (for me? *puppy pouts*) :D
> 
> Read on, my lovelies, and enjoy! ^.^

Sat around the small dining table, the three of you were quite eagerly tucking into your pizzas. The boxes, damp with grease, lay discarded on one of the kitchen work surfaces. Sinking your teeth into a delicious slice, you relished the flavours spreading across your tongue. Having been informed by your mother, Dean had not only purchased a pizza with your favourite toppings, but had also acquired your most beloved sweet treats and 'naughty' snacks. The gesture did not go unappreciated.

"Thanks so much for all of this, Dean," you said bashfully, breaking a strand of mozzarella that was resolutely attached to the pizza slice.

"No problem. Glad you like it, [Y/N]. Gotta make a good impression, right?" He tipped his head your way, before taking an ample chunk out of his own pizza slice. "I did get a few pointers from a certain someone, though." He glanced at your mom, a fond smile spreading over his face. Her eyes lit up, and she gave a silvery laugh.

"I nudged you in the right direction, maybe," she squeezed his hand. Dean laced his fingers between hers, a gesture so simple yet so beautifully tender.

"Thank you, too, Mom," you smiled across at her. In response, she blew a tiny kiss in your direction, eyes crinkling at the corners. With a soft giggle, you took another bite of your pizza.

"Soooo, [Y/N], I've been told the basics about you...but I'd like to find out a bit more. [Y/M/N] told me you're goin' to college when this vacation ends- what are you studyin'?" Dean asked.

"Oh, I'm majoring in Illustration," you answered him lightly.

"Ah, artistic soul? Lemme guess, you play at least _**one**_ instrument, right?" Dean leaned back in his seat, squinting at you.

"I do, actually," you heaved a chuckle, smiling broadly at the older man, "Piano."

"Awesome, so you're a talented sweetheart? [Y/M/N], you popped out one cool little lady-"

"Yes I did," your mom declares proudly, sending herself up in a joking fashion.

"I wonder if she's as modest as you," Dean teased, tickling your mom's waist before leaning forward to kiss her cheek, "So, tell me more, what do you wanna do with Illustration?" He turned his attention back to you.

 

"Honestly, I'm still not sure. I'm going into it with an open mind, y'know? I'd like to, maybe, have my own business, do freelancing here and there. Thing is, I don't _**just**_ want to be an illustrator. I want to do more, make the most of my hobbies," you explained shyly.

"I get that, completely- an open mind is a healthy mind. Doin' different stuff makes you feel alive, latchin' yourself onto one thing takes the joy outta livin', " Dean concurred, nodding at you approvingly, "So what other stuff are ya interested in?"

"Ah, well...piano, of course. Writing! I love writing-"

"The perfect outlet for emotions?" Dean guessed.

"Yeah! Exactly!" You were delighted that after barely half an hour of knowing one another, this man seemed to have such a profound understanding of you.

"Thought so. I tried my hand at writing when I was goin' through a rough time in my younger days. I wasn't much good at it, mind you, but it actually helped a lot. It was kinda therapeutic," Dean explained.

"You can channel all those feelings into a story," you added, in full agreement.

"You got it, princess! Anyways, I interrupted you when you were talkin' earlier. What other hobbies were you gonna mention?" He pursued. Having somebody, especially Dean, be so sincerely interested in what you had to say bolstered your confidence and made you feel uplifted. He appeared genuinely fond of you, not resenting your presence and making an active effort to involve you in the conversation. It felt wonderful to be _**cared**_ about. Being wary around men, you rarely felt such comfort; but now it was nigh on impossible not to be in good spirits with Dean projecting so much warmth towards you.

"Oh...um....horse riding. It's so much fun, I swear I'm addicted to it," you told him vivaciously.

"I can vouch for that," your mom tittered, "Can't keep her out of a saddle."

"'Cause I'm fabulous in the saddle," you wiggled your shoulders from side to side, playfully, shuffling around in your seat. Dean flashed another crooked smile in your direction, before laughing at the endearing jig you demonstrated. Your personality was beginning to shine through and he was, whether unwittingly or not, pulling you from your shell.

 

After devouring your pizzas, next came the Doritos and jar of salsa. Chattering away together, you absent-mindedly picked out a chip, dipped it into the salsa and popped it into your mouth, crunching loudly. You savoured the heat of the salsa against the mild spices of the Dorito, humming contentedly. At some point, both you and Dean dipped your respective Doritos, the chips colliding in the jar.

"Sweet lady, are you challenging me to a Doritio duel?" Dean inquired, feigning a theatrical air. With a devilish grin, you rallied quickly.

"Why, good sir, I am indeed!"

"Shame upon your house, sweet lady, you know not who I am! I am the Knight of Salsa!" Dean gestured dramatically to himself.

"Is that so? Well, you shall have to relinquish your title to me, good sir! _**En garde**_!" With that, you both began tapping each other's Doritio chips furiously.

"Oh sweet baby Jesus," your mother sighed, trying to stifle a smirk. You and Dean happily continued your Doritio duel in the salsa jar, both of you focused intently.

"Give in, [Y/N], your chip's gonna snap," Dean attempted to persaude you, but you refused to submit.

"I will never admit defeat! Victory will-" Your Dorito, with comedic timing, broke apart, "Dang it." You sighed, looking at the fragments of tortilla chip sinking into the salsa. Dean chuckled, scooping up salsa on his Dorito.

"Knight of Salsa, princess. Undefeated champion," he reminded you, with a smug, triumphant grin.

"Phooey," you pouted. The older man smiled at you, before holding out the salsa-coated Dorito to you.

"Go on, you fought well. Share the spoils with the victor, huh?" He winked at you. Timidly, you snapped off half of the chip with your thumb and forefinger.

"Are you sure?" You asked tentatively.

"Yup," he confirmed, eyes crinkling as he smiled affectionately at you. Simultaneously, you and he slipped the halves of the Dorito into your mouths and began crunching. You had to resist the urge to let your gaze linger on his handsome face, so you turned to smile at your mom.

 

While your mom and Dean cleared away plates, discarded packets and food wrappers, you dutifully began wiping down the dining table with a cloth and anti-bacterial spray; sweeping away crumbs from pizza dough and specks of chocolate. While Dean disposed of the debris of litter, your mom was washing the plates in the kitchen sink. The two were discussing Dean's stay-

"[Y/M/N], are you sure about me stayin' for a whole twelve weeks? Don't you wanna start off with a week then build it up over time?" He was inquiring.

"Of course I want you to stay! We've been together for enough time, I think it'd be good for us- we can see how long we can put up with each other," your mom assured him, "Plus, I really wanted you and [Y/N] to get a chance to actually get to know each other. 'Cause, y'know, if things get _**really**_ serious then maybe..." She glanced over her shoulder at him, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes.

"Maybe...?" Dean grinned, obviously catching on to her 'subtle' suggestion.

"Maybe..." She repeated, with a sunlit smile.

"Very likely," Dean chuckled, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"You'll be around...a lot more...on a, y'know, permanent basis," your mom nipped at her lower lip. They must have been incredibly keen on one another to have discussed the possibility of marriage. You wondered, briefly, what it would be like having Dean for a stepfather. Awkward perhaps, if you're attraction to him became infatuation?

"I think that'd be pretty awesome," he acknowledged, laughing softly.

"I think it would," your mom agreed earnestly, "So yes, I want you to stay here for the whole summer and I want to make you feel like you're a part of this family, Dean." She said. The tawny haired man looked deeply touched by her words, pushed himself away from the kitchen counter he'd momentarily been leaning against and kissed your mom, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. A small part of you wished you had somebody who would kiss you and touch you as lovingly as Dean did-

 _ **Oh, whoa, that's weird,**_ you shook yourself mentally. Unfortunately, you didn't peel your watchful gaze quickly enough from your mother and her boyfriend embracing, as Dean turned his head to catch sight of you staring. He cast you a gentle look, without speaking a word. Rather embarrassed, you smiled sheepishly before dropping your gaze to the table and scrubbing a stubborn little stain of tomato sauce. Daring to peer up again, Dean's expression was still gentle; no trace of judgement or contempt. Like he was silently including you in his demonstration of love, making you feel a part of something you couldn't quite define.

 

Being late enough, you started preparing for bed. Your mom and Dean would be staying up, probably with the intention of watching a movie together and...well, whatever came of that was not something you wanted to contemplate. Brushing your teeth, you heard Dean going out to his car and hauling in his duffel bag. He made his way up the stairs, into your mom's room and, presumably, began unpacking. It only struck you at that moment that you'd have to get used to living with another person in the house for the next twelve weeks. Not that it would be an emotionally crippling struggle having Dean Winchester living with you.

Spitting out the toothpaste and wiping your mouth, you padded across the landing to your bedroom, where you changed into your pyjamas; which comprised only of a baggy t-shirt and the underwear you'd had on since that morning. Bearing in mind your new houseguest, you peeked out of your room to make sure Dean wasn't out on the landing. Assessing the 'coast was clear', and the door to your mom's bedroom mostly shut, you scurried towards the bathroom to use the toilet. At the precise moment you were about to step into the bathroom, Dean came sweeping out of the bedroom with his towel draped over his arm.

He gave you a friendly smile before registering your lack of 'lower body coverage', at which point he came to a halt, his eyebrows twitching upwards for a moment.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I'm so used to dressing like this....we've never had anyone else stay here....I didn't think-" You stammered, tugging at the hem of your t-shirt.

"Relax, [Y/N], I've seen legs before," Dean tried easing your nerves, "I don't want you feelin' awkward in your home."

"I dunno, I'm literally walking around in undies and a t-shirt. I don't think that's too suitable when my mom's boyfriend is staying," you dipped your head in shame, creeping into the bathroom and feeling warm all over. "Sorry..."

"Don't apologise, sweetheart. Tell ya what, let's just say I was so preoccupied with storing my towel, I didn't even see you goin' into the bathroom," Dean offered.

"Oh-okay," you giggled, glad to be given an 'out' to the awkward situation. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Look, we're gonna be livin' in the same house for twelve weeks, I think it's inevitable we end up seein' more of each other-"

"Ah...um..." You felt your face heat up.

"It's no big deal," Dean added reasonably.

"Okay, cool, I guess," you hunched your shoulders in demure gesture.

"Good. G'night, [Y/N]," he bade you, before walking on to store his towel in the linen closet. You could have sworn, just as he walked on, his eyes travelled down to linger for a moment on your bare legs. Maybe it was just tiredness making you impressionable? It seemed quite real, though; that tiniest glimpse of  _ **hunger**_ in his expression.


	3. Shopping Trip- Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, lovely people! I'm so sorry this chapter couldn't be posted sooner, I've been really busy lately. I had to spend a lot of time preparing my art portfolio for a university interview, as well as plough on with project work on the side, so I couldn't spend anywhere near as much time writing.
> 
> Either way, I really hope this chapter proves to be worth the wait and doesn't disappoint :) I planned to make it longer, but decided to split into two parts to make it easier to write (long chapters always frazzle me out XD).
> 
> Please read on and enjoy, groovy souls <3

When you finally woke up the next morning, you heard the clink of crockery and low hum of conversation downstairs. Feeling conscious of your morning 'stink' and dishevelled hair, you decided to bathe before going down to eat breakfast. Laying back in the bath, the hot water rushing across your skin, you felt immediately refreshed. While quickly dunking your hair beneath the water, preparing to lather it up with shampoo, there were footsteps up the staircase. They were heavier than your mother's, so you assumed it could only be Dean. There was a soft rapping of knuckles against the bathroom door-

"Hey, sweetheart, your mom heard you movin' about up here. Want anythin' put together for your breakfast?" He asked amiably.

"No need to, thank you- I just thought I'd have some cereal this morning," you told him politely.

"Any particular cereal? I can it least put it out on the table for ya," he offered.

"Oh, no, it's fine, Dean, you don't have to do that," you said bashfully, feeling a rush of affection for him.

"Nah, I don't _**have**_ to, but I _**want**_   to. Lemme be helpful, [Y/N]," Dean chuckled from the other side.

"Are you sure?" You asked for confirmation, your manner demure.

"Hundred per cent, sweetheart," he assured you.

"Aw, okay. Just the box of granola, please. If that's alright?"

"Granola comin' right up, angel," Dean said jovially, tapping the doorframe twice.

"Thank you!" You quickly said before he went downstairs.

 

Padding into the kitchen, running a hand through your damp hair, you saw Dean and your mom at the dining table. As he said he would, Dean had placed your box of granola on the table. He'd also taken the liberty of setting out a bowl and spoon for you. It actually felt rather nice to be nurtured like this. You were more than capable and more than happy to lay out your own crockery and food, but having someone take the time to do it for you- to consider you so kindly- gave you the kind of boost that was, in your opinion, long overdue.

"Morning, hun," your mom greeted you warmly.

"Morning! Thanks for putting my stuff out, Dean," you added sweetly. He simply responded with a wink and a click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Tipping some of the cereal into your bowl, you listened to your mother suggest a plan for the day.

"So, I was thinking, you've been angling for a trip to the mall-"

"Angling?" You piped up challengingly. Dean smirked from across the table.

"Yeah, **_angling_ **. I'm not as blissfully ignorant as you might believe- having you for a daughter keeps me on my toes, missy," your mom sniggered.

"Ah, well, there I was thinking I was being subtle," you reflected, pouring milk over the granola.

"In your dreams, honey! _**Anyway**_ , as I was saying- you've been angling for a trip to the mall, and seeing as I'm working today...I thought maybe Dean could take you? Y'know, make it a 'bonding' experience," she suggested. You tilted your head to one side, pressing your lips together and giving her a reproachful look.

 

"Mom, me and Dean haven't exactly been clashing so far. We've _**bonded**_. Plus, I dunno, it feels kinda...presumptuous asking him to take me shopping," you expressed your concerns, turning to Dean and adding, "I'd feel awkward. I don't want you to feel obligated to take me places."

"Actually...it was mostly **_Dean's_** idea," your mom revealed to you, holding her boyfriend's hand.

"Oh..." Was your response.

"I mentioned it last night, after you hit the hay," Dean explained, that handsome smile spreading across his face. Heat rose to your cheeks when you recalled the embarrassing incident of the previous night. "Thought it be nice for us to spend some time together, y'know? Then your mom said you'd been wantin' to do some shoppin' for a while, so it seemed like a good opportunity." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. You considered his proposition, though it took hardly any effort to sway you.

"I'd like that! Only if you're sure?" A delighted grin stretched across your face.

"Completely," he confirmed, taking a bite out of his toast.

"Oo, I'm looking forward to it!" You celebrated, clapping your hands together in a manner Dean obviously found endearing; given the fond chuckle he gave.

* * *

 As you bade your mother farewell before she went to work, Dean had switched on the ignition of his beautiful Chevy Impala (as he proudly told you). You watched your mom drive away, holding onto the door of the passenger's seat, sliding onto the black, leather bench seat only when she was finally out of view. You let your eyes drift across the Impala's dashboard, admiring her classical splendour.

"Like what you see?" Dean inquired, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"She's a beaut!" You nodded affirmatively.

"She sure is. My Baby," he smoothed his hands over the steering wheel, before patting it lightly. You couldn't help but giggle benignly at his loving pet-name for the Impala.

"You sure do love her, don't you?"

"Categorically," said Dean, which had you burst into a fresh peal of laughter, "Baby here got given to me by dad. There's a lotta sentimental value attached to her." He went on to explain.

"You and your dad must be close then?" You asked, keeping your voice level and polite, given the more personal nature of the question. Dean's smile faded a touch, his expression that of a troubled soul. 

 

"Ah...well...kinda, I guess. It's difficult to describe," he responded uneasily. Quickly addressing your error, you reached out; though your fingertips didn't quite graze his arm.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked...I didn't mean to be rude," you apologised furtively. Almost as swiftly, Dean was pulled out of his fleeting melancholia and flashed you a guilty look.

"Aw, no, it's cool, sweetheart. It's a pretty regular question, you're not to know if it hits a nerve or somethin'. You're just curious," he reassured you, squeezing your hand gently. That was the first time you two had made physical contact, and it took all your strength and determination not to shiver. You couldn't, however, suppress the butterfly-like tingle in your stomach. Dean's hand was slightly calloused, coarse against your skin, but it was comfortingly warm- offering security with its lightest touch. Noticing goosepimples springing up across your arm, you felt a rush of nerves.

Dean appeared not have spotted this bodily reaction. If he had, he was doing a damn fine job of pretending otherwise.

"I'm still sorry for asking, though, I didn't mean for it to upset you. Are you alright, Dean?" You questioned him demurely.

"Like a pig in mud- I'm feelin' just fine, princess," he smiled brightly, "C'mon, let's go to the mall and spoil ya silly, [Y/N]!"

* * *

Strolling through the numerous levels of the mall, you felt the pleasant buzz of retail therapy at work. The sounds of chatter surrounded you, delightful smells wafting from cafes and food kiosks and Dean's company proved to be a wonderful combination. Making a purposeful beeline for your favourite clothing store, you peered back at Dean with an elfish smile.

"Wherever you wanna go, [Y/N]," Dean smirked. You grinned widely and practically skipped forward into the store, exctitedly drinking in the sight of gorgeous clothes before you. Beginning your search for some new tops, you started to comb through the clothing racks, shuffling hangers along the rails from which they hung. Plucking out a top, you held it up and examined it more closely. With a glance at Dean, who was now by your side, you pulled a curious face that silently asked for his thoughts.

"Looks nice. Can't say I know much about clothes shoppin, though, sweetheart- so it's kinda down to you to decide," he said.

"Ah well, figured I'd get an opinion from a trusted source," you shrugged your shoulders, smiling up at him. He rubbed your back, just between your shoulder blades, in a companionable gesture.

"I'll do my best, princess," he added. With an exchange of fond smiles, you then continued to comb through the store, gathering various items of apparel until you were weighed down with the clothes. It was at that point that Dean carefully took from you some of the tops, a pair of jeans and a pair of beautifully patterned leggings and carried them for you till you reached the changing room. He assisted in hanging up the clothes in the cubicle you selected and made to leave the changing room, saying he'd be waiting nearby for you.

 "Wait, Dean, could you please stay with me? I don't want you to go," you requested, sounding somewhat more vulnerable than you intended. Dean cocked his head to one side and chuckled.

"Oh, [Y/N], have you fallen for my charmin' personality? I know, I'm pretty damn adorable," he teased kindly. Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you realised just how needy you'd sounded.

"Sorry, it's just...I dunno...it feels nice having you around, I've never had this...my dad never-" You broke off, breaking out into a hot flush of embarrassment.

 

"Hey, don't worry about it, sweetheart," Dean's voice was incredibly gentle and understanding, and he reached out to ruffle the hair just above your ear in an affectionate manner. "I'll go make myself comfortable on those...chairs?" He leaned back, glancing over suspiciously at the unusually shaped seats in the changing room. You watched him settle down a seat opposite your cubicle (after a few moments of trying to figure out where he was actually supposed to sit). Closing the cubicle door, you heard Dean pipe up- "This shit is a little too contemporary for me, [Y/N]. Is my ass supposed to go here or...over there? The hell? Who designed this? M. C Escher?"

You giggled from inside the changing cubicle, pulling your top up over your head.

"Outta curiosity, [Y/N, you didn't grab any crop tops or hot pants, right? I think your mom would kill me if I let you get that kinda stuff," Dean inquired.

"Nah, no revealing stuff, Dean. I'm a classy girl," you snickered.

"Thank Christ," he breathed out a sigh of relief, making you laugh. Picking out one of the tops you chose, you eased it over your head and smoothed it down your waist.

"Dean, would you mind giving a 'yay' or 'nay' to the stuff I'm trying?"

"Sure, but I can't promise anythin' more than a one-word answer," he said honestly.

"That's okay, don't need much more than that," you smiled at your reflection in the mirror.

 

Several minutes later, you finally reached the last item to try out. So far, you'd had mostly 'thumbs-up' from Dean on different tops or jeans. This final item was a stunning, smart-casual dress you'd plucked from the seasonal section; consisting of a close-fitting, one-shouldered silken dress, that had a beautiful sheer material as an 'over-dress' which draped over the arm with the single shoulder strap. With its lovely teal colour, it complimented your skin tone perfectly, and to complete the look- you fastened around your waist the ornate silver and shimmering deep blue belt that came with the dress. Rotating in the cubicle, peering at yourself in the mirrors, you decided to get Dean's opinion.

"Okay, I'm coming out, Dean, this one's a little different to the other stuff I've tried," you mentioned in advance. 

"You've piqued my curiosity?" Dean chimed from the other side of the cubicle. Opening up the door, you stepped out and presented yourself.

"Ta-dah! Whaddya think?" You asked, slightly nervous, holding your arms out to show off the dress. Dean stared at you, eyebrows quirking up an inch or so. "Is it...is it okay?" You did a slow pirouette, allowing him to view the fit and cut of the dress.

"You look..."

"Not horrible?" You giggled anxiously, fiddling with the belt. Worried he thought you looked ridiculous, you began creeping backwards into the changing cubicle. "I hope..."

" _ **Beautiful**_ , I was gonna say," Dean told you, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees. "You look real gorgeous, princess."

"Really?" You asked in a soft, shy voice, picking at the belt around your waist.

" _ **Yes**_. You do," he said firmly, smiling at you. His gaze drifted over the length of the dress, his enchanting green eyes appearing to examine every inch.

"Thank you," you said demurely. That strange butterfly-like tingle stirred in your belly again, and though you were able to ignore it more easily, you still felt it quaking your insides. Dean's expression was doing nothing to alleviate the feeling, serving only to make you rather weak at the knees. You swore you saw the brief flash in his eyes; of the very thing you noticed the previous night when he'd caught you wandering around with your legs on full display. _**Hunger**_. In an effort to quell the tension, you laughed softly and pointed out, "I think I'm done with trying outfits. Checkout time!"

 

Aware of his own lingering gaze, Dean snapped out of his 'dreamy' state and practically leapt up from the seat. "Sure thing, want me to grab some of that stuff and help lighten the load?" He offered, returning to his amiable, charming self as though a switch had been flipped in his head.

"Thanks, Dean, but I better get changed out of this first, though," you mentioned timidly, pointing to the dress you were still clad in as he swept briskly into the cubicle.

"Oh man, of course. One track mind, huh?" He joked at his own expense, tapping his temple. You thought, for a mad fleeting moment, that you detected a faint blush dust his cheeks- but told yourself that it must have simply been a trick of the eye beneath the cubicle's lighting.

"It's cool, once you've been around me long enough you'll realise just how often I do random stuff without thinking," you tittered.

"Apparently we're one of a kind," Dean remarked, leaving the cubicle, his arm brushing accidentally across your chest. You didn't want to admit- even to yourself- how much you enjoyed the sensation of him simply grazing his arm across your breasts; despite them being unexposed and separated by two layers of clothing.

"That's good, then, it means you'll just find my odd behaviour endearing and relatable," you piped up.

"I sure will," he replied, "C'mon, we'll get this stuff paid for and then head over to another store. I hear it's mandatory for a girl to buy shoes, jewellery and make-up when she goes on a shoppin' spree."

"And underwear," you threw in, a little carelessly given that you'd only known Dean for barely two days.

"That too. 'Fraid I won't be able to sit in and offer you advice on undies, though, [Y/N]. You'll have to do that one by yourself," Dean reminded you, collpasing back into the bizarre chair.

"I guess that would border on inappropriate," you tried to make light of the hypothetical situation, but you couldn't stop the heat from flooding your face as you pictured pirouetting before Dean, clad only in red, lacy lingerie. For a transient moment, you wondered how he'd react to such a sight. Would he be repelled by you or...not-so-repelled? You then shook yourself mentally, remembering that this was the same guy your mom had discussed the possibility of _**marriage**_ with. He was supposed to be a _**father**_ figure, not some fantasy to fuel your urges...

Being around Dean for the whole summer was going to be a hell of challenge for your hormones...

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

The dress I based the description on in this chapter. I wanted to use the colour teal, as its supposedly  goes with ALL skin tones :D I hope that's the case! ^.^

                                                                               


	4. Shopping Trip-Part Two

Stowing several bags full of newly bought clothing, shoes and accessories, both you and Dean wandered into a nearby cafe for a late lunch. The two of you were getting along wonderfully, chattering every so often or sometimes even enjoying companionable silence while you perused various stores. He hadn't uttered a single word of complaint, chuckling and good-naturedly brushing off your embarrassed apologies for 'taking so long to decide'. It got to a point where he was occasionally offering advice on what he thought suited you; whether the colours or patterns looked right or if the style flattered your build. However, true to his word, he hadn't accompanied you into the underwear section of another store you'd been known to frequent; opting instead to browse through the menswear section. You couldn't blame him, it would have definitely crossed a boundary for what was appropriate.

After selecting some food and drinks and paying at the cash register, the two of you made yourselves comfortable at a table, arranging the bags beneath the table. 

"I think I can feel some muscle devleoping from carrying those bags," you joked, pinching your upper arm.

"You'll be flashin' those biceps in no time," Dean snorted affably. Running with the joke, you flexed your arms and jutted out your chin in the pantomime of some chiselled, professional body builder. "Ah! Stop, stop, you're makin' me feel inadequate over here, [Y/N]!" He kidded. You laughed, letting your arms fall to your sides, then lay your hands on the table. A few moments passed before you next spoke.

"Today's been really nice, Dean. Thank you," you told him sweetly.

"I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far, princess. I guess I should thank you for agreein' to come out today. I mean, I wouldn't have been too surprised if you'd said 'no', we've only known each for, well, less than two days, right? I know we both still gotta lot of ground to cover before you feel totally comfortable with me-"

"Oh...but I kinda do already feel comfortable with you, Dean. You're really easy to get along with," you said, smiling over at him. The older man positively beamed delightedly at the compliment, his smile absolutely devestating.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Gotta say, I'm glad this is goin' well so far. You know, I love your mom like crazy and...if you and me didn't...um... _ **mesh well**_ together- that woulda been pretty..." He held his hands apart, searching for the right word.

" _ **Difficult**_ ," you offered.

"Yeah, no kiddin'," Dean chuckled, raising his eyebrows, "I have to admit, I was worried before comin' to meet you. Kept thinkin' 'Aw man, what do I do if she hates my guts? How are we gonna work this out?'." He expressed his previous concerns to you, and you felt more confident in opening up to him about your own doubts. 

 

"Honestly, I was really freaking out, too. I was so scared that you'd just immediately dislike me or something, especially because...well, I'm not really...good at talking to men," you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. Dean gave you a curious but sympathetic look, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

 "You seem fine talkin' to me, sweetheart," he noted.

"Well, because...you're _**you**_. Like I said, I feel comfortable with you which is...a first, in truth. I've not had very good experiences with..." You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about this stuff, it's a little awkward for someone who's just met me."

"Hey, no, go ahead, [Y/N]. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about this stuff," Dean encouraged gently.

"It's just...I'm kinda worried you'll think I'm- I have some issues or something...it's just difficult talking to a guy about it, because you might feel like I need you to be a...I dunno-"

"Father figure?" Dean hazarded a guess. You knotted your fingers together, suddenly ashamed. "Wanna talk about it?"

"It's not a fun topic," you said dolefully.

"If I only wanted to know about your hobbies and favourite stores, I wouldn't be askin'. But I am, 'cause I want to **know** the person sittin' in front of me," he assured you. Looking at his sincere expression, you took a deep breath and began.

 

"Um...my dad wasn't ever really... _ **around**_. Like, he was there when I was younger but he couldn't have been less interested in my existence. I can't remember him ever telling me that he loved me. As I got older, he and my mom started arguing a lot, and he'd just...disappear for days on end. We wouldn't see him or hear him from at all, and suffice to say, my mom would be really scared every time it happened. But then, when he was actually at home for a change...he was just so _**mean**_. Living with him was like...stepping on eggshells. Say the wrong thing, he'd blow a fuse and start raging. That's what I remember most, him upsetting me and Mom and being awful to live with," you paused, gathering your thoughts, "When I turned ten, we found out...not only was he going out and using drugs...but he was seeing other women."

"Jesus," Dean muttered disgustedly.

"Mom kicked him out. He didn't really seem to care about what he'd done, never apologised for his actions. I've not heard from him since the day he left," you confided in Dean, nipping at your lower lip to stop it trembling, "Eight years of nothing from him. I spent a lot of time brooding and sulking when I was younger, getting jealous of other girls with really sweet, loving dads and wondering why I didn't get that."

Dean remained tactfully quiet.

"I feel like damaged goods sometimes, because I just...struggle with guys. I can't talk to them without panicking or overthinking things. I don't know what to think of guys most of the time, and I'm scared I'll never be able to trust them because...well they might go and do what my dad did," you admitted, wiping away a tear. "God, I'm so sorry, Dean, I'm talking like this is some kind of therapy session."

 

"Sweetheart, I'm real sorry for what that asshole put ya through. I don't know if it's just empty words to you or not, but most guys wouldn't pull that kinda crap. That stuff he did is reprehensible, and Christ knows when he comes to his senses and realises what he's done...he's gonna have to live with that for the rest of his pitiful life," Dean sounded deeply scathing, clearly appalled by your father's abhorrent behaviour. "And you, for that matter, are _**not**_ 'damaged goods'. Don't ever think that or believe someone who tries to tell you that. You're a total cutie, you're awesome company and you have to have the most contagious smile I've ever seen-"

You couldn't help but beam at him, and he pointed to your face while nodding, "Ah! Ah-ha, there it is, it's beautiful!" He praised you, drawing out a burst of melodic laughter from you. "Look, you might feel like it's tough talkin' to guys, but don't forget that some of them- especially around your age- aren't too great at talkin' to girls. They're just as afraid as you are, [Y/N]. Or their minds aren't really in the right place. I know for a fact when I was eighteen, I was a repellant little shit sometimes."

"I can't believe that," you flashed him a doubtful smile.

"Believe it, I wasn't in a good place back then. But, y'know, I just...changed. Grew up, got my head sorted, started acting like a decent human being...and hey, it stuck with me!" Dean said. "Point is, it's not on **_you_** , you're not at fault for anything going wrong when you talk to a guy, unless you call him a dickweed for no apparent reason. For all you know, you could end up talkin' to a guy who's been through the exact same crap as you, and he's thinkin' 'Does she think I'm a freak? Does she find me annoying? Does she want me to stop talkin' to her?' This stuff is always a two-way street."

"Yeah...I guess so," you acknowledged, feeling better from listening to Dean.

"And the trust thing...well, that's nothin' new. You and millions of other people worry about whether you'll be able to trust whoever you're datin'. Honestly, you just take that risk everytime you start a relationship and hope for the best. Important thing to remember is, makin' sure you're always communicating about this stuff, don't ignore it and let it turn sour. If they're not willing to be open and truthful, that's a bad sign. I understand, though, trust is...pretty fragile. The thing is to make sure you find someone who values and treasures the trust you give," he carried on, "That's my two cents on the whole thing, anyway."

 

"Thanks, Dean. I'm glad you said all that, I feel a lot happier. I dunno, it's just...helped more hearing that come from you. Not sure why that is," you shrugged your shoulders, but you knew- deep down- why it helped.

"Because I'm a guy, probably?" Dean suggested, able to see clearly through the facade. Your face became warm, and you found yourself shifting your gaze to the floor. "Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to make ya uncomfortable- no, it's normal to want some kinda...whaddya call it...affirmation."

"That sounds terrible, like I'm using you for a confidence boost," you reflected, mortified.

"It's _**natural**_ ," Dean insisted, as a cafe employee finally delivered yours and Dean's toasted sandwiches and his coffee. You broke the seal on your bottled water and took a sip, before biting into your sandwich.

"Please don't ever feel obligated to make me feel better or be a dad to me, Dean, I don't want to put you in that position," you told him after swallowing your bite of toasted sandwich.

"What if I want to make you feel better?" He asked, lifting his cup of coffee to his lips.

"Well, then, if it's of your own volition I have no right to tell you not to. Especially if it entails buying me stuff," you answered slyly, making the older man chuckle.

"You really are one sharp tack, princess," he pointed out, appreciatively.

"Plus, I have to admit...I can say all that stuff about not wanting you to feel duty bound to be a stand-in dad, but secretly... I kind of like it," you confessed, "It's really nice having someone other than my mom show me affection. It feels good to be cared about."

"I like it too," Dean added. When you gave him a midly surprised look, he merely smiled. "Two way street, remember?"

A curious warmth filled your chest, and you felt as though someone had lifted you up and placed you atop the world. It was no mystery as to who that 'someone' was...

* * *

Strolling at a leisurely pace through the mall, with the intent of returning to Dean's car and heading back home, a slightly off-beat store caught your attention. On display in the windows were strange yet undoubtedly beautiful, bohemian jewellery that had a handcrafted look about them. Earrings made with gorgeously coloured beads, necklaces bearing chunky gemstone pendants, bold bangles with elaborate designs and bracelets adorned with marbled, colourful chips of polished stone.

"Mind if we go in here, Dean? This stuff looks really cool," you asked.

"Not at all. Seems very chilled out and artsy, figured it'd be your kinda place," he agreed quite cheerfully, letting you enter the shop before him. Slowly stepping into the store, you were met with soft music, atmospheric dimmed lighting and a mild, sweet aroma from burning incense.

"Well, you can't say they're not committed to the boho vibe, huh?" Dean lowered his voice, given that the store was virtually empty aside from a young woman at the cash register and a couple of browsing customers. Drifting lazily through the shop, the woman at the cash register looked up from her book to offer both you and Dean a friendly smile. She certainly looked appropriate for the store in which she worked; given that she was festooned- seemingly head to toe- in lovely, earthy jewellery. If working a cash register ever became dull for her, you thought she could easily be a walking marketing campaign for the store. Smiling back at her warmly, you then turned slowly to return your curious gaze to the merchandise.

Eyes drifting over countless necklaces, pairs of earrings, bangles, bracelets, hand and foot harnesses, even  _ **ear cuffs**_ ...you were completely absorbed, sometimes whispering your thoughts to Dean.

"The hand harnesses are really pretty, but I feel like they're an accident waiting to happen," you said in a very hushed voice, as he leant down to listen to you.

"Yeah, plus they must get in the way, right? Like...c'mon, when you're using the can and you need to wipe, what if they...y'know... _ **get caught up in your business**_ ," he muttered to you. Barely stifling a snort of laughter, you clapped your hand over your mouth and wrinkled your nose in amused disgust.

"Oh, Dean, no, no, no- mental image not needed," you whined, snickering at the same time.

"It's a valid argument, though," he chuckled, clearly relishing your reaction.

"Well, I'm not gonna try to argue with _**that**_ ," you shuddered, before snorting again.

 

Sauntering past a long glass case, with the more expensive jewellery laid out for display, you thought you'd merely cast your gaze over them and move on. That was until something caught your eye. An exquisite dark amethyst pendant, carefully cut and carved against small, delicate tendrils of silver, on black cord, with a silver, filigree clasp. You came to a sudden halt and stared at it, transfixed.

"Oh wow," you breathed out.

"That's the look of a woman in love," Dean teased gently, coming over to join you at the glass display case. "Well, I'll be damned, that's actually awesome lookin'."

"Isn't it just?" You sighed dreamily.

"How much is it?" Dean inquired softly, and you glanced to the side of the necklace in search of a price label. Upon seeing the price, you sucked at your teeth with an inward hiss.

"Eurgh," You groaned disappointedly. "Forty five bucks? Ah man..." In the meantime, the woman at the cash register had pattered over when she saw you both at the display case. Realising which necklace you were pining over, she began to explain.

"Amethyst cord necklaces aren't usually too expensive. It's 'cause there's white gold in there, and more work went into it, so that jacks the price up," she pulled the corner of her mouth back into an apologetic smile.

"Are there any without the white gold?" Dean inquired on your behalf.

"Yeah, but they're mostly the weird looking amethyst chunks or kitschy bottle charms," she said.

"Not really my thing, if I'm being honest," you told her and she nodded as though to concur, "Forty five bucks....Mom would be so mad if I spent forty five dollars on a necklace. I've already picked up all this stuff." You said to Dean, rather crestfallen. "Never mind. Perhaps another day, right?" Turning to the assistant, you smiled at her, "Thanks for helping us out, anyway."

 

"I could get it for you?" Dean offered. Snapping your head around to look at him, you met his expression with a horrified look.

"Oh God, Dean, I couldn't let you do that. It's forty five dollars, that's way too much! Besides, Mom would be annoyed if I spent her money on the necklace. If _**you**_ spent your money buying me a necklace, she'd tear me a new one!"

"We could just...not tell her? Y'know, keep it between us. Or just say it costed less than it did?" He suggested, with a blithe shrug of the shoulders.

"I'd feel super guilty, though," you pursed your lips into a contemplative pout.

"Let's call it a present from me to you, then you don't have to feel guilty," he grinned rogueishly.

"Making an agreement like that doesn't take away the guilt," you huffed, jokingly petulant. Dean laughed at your response, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, overwhelmed with affection for you. Suppressing a shiver, you peered up at him furtively.

"C'mon, let me spoil ya, [Y/N], you deserve it. Anyways, I think it would be a shame if you didn't get it. It'd look real nice on ya," he encouraged, like some handsome, amiable devil on your shoulder.

"Don't tempt me," you rallied, staring down at the gorgeous necklace. The shop assistant was smiling brightly as she observed this exchange between you and Dean. Biting down on your lower lip, you glanced up at Dean. "If you're completely, totally, hundred-per-cent okay with it...like, deadly certain...I guess that would be a nice present..."

"I'm completely, totally and hundred-per-cent okay with it, [Y/N]. You definitely want this one? I'm not just pressurin' you into gettin' it?"

"I'd really like it, please," you said shyly, face flushing.

"Awesome! An amethyst necklace for the lovely lady, please, sweetheart," Dean said charmingly to the assistant, who unlocked the display case and carefully lifted the necklace from its place. While she entered the amount into the cash register, you quickly whispered to Dean.

"Thank you so much, Dean," you told him, with a radiant smile.

"Don't mention it. Hope you like wearin' it," he ruffled your hair lightly, before making his way toward the register to pay.

 

Outside the store, Dean plucked the necklace out of the packaging and held it out in front of you. "Let's put it on ya, shall we? See how it looks?"

"Sure thing," you agreed enthusiastically, stepping forward and gently dropping your numerous shopping bags either side of you.

"Awesome," the older man celebrated, walking around to stand behind you. Slowly, he raised the necklace above and over your head, bringing it up as far as necessary and fastened the clasp at the nape of your neck. Glancing down to admire the pendant, you lifted it up to examine it and it was, wiithout a doubt, absolutely gorgeous. From what you could see, the black cord seemed tastefully subtle against your throat, draping down to allow the pendant to rest just above your breasts. You adored your new necklace, but more importantly, you adored the man who had gifted it to you.

Dean stood in front of you, staring at the necklace.

"It looks amazing on you, princess, it really does. You like it?" His focus shifted to your own eyes.

"I love it," you told him earnestly, looking at him with a kind of childlike adoration. "Thank you, Dean!" Emboldened by his words, his actions and caring demeanour, you reached out and hugged him, winding your arms around his waist and nestling your cheek against his chest. It took him a few seconds to catch up, and he then wrapped one arm around you while his other hand rubbed your back in steady, soothing circles.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he said, his voice lower and raspier than you'd ever heard it before...


	5. Those Funny Feelings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd just like to say, I'm so sorry for having not updated any works and, more or less, vanishing into the ether for a while. As well as having just started my last big project at college (as well as having to do some resubmissions for past projects) I went and picked up the flu a few weeks ago. I've been fine and dandy the past week and a bit, but I honestly felt like a complete zombie during the first week after catching it. So, as you can all imagine, that was most definitely not conducive to decent fan fic writing XD
> 
> Second, I'm sorry if this chapter is too short for your liking...I just wanted to ease back into the writing, so a shorter chapter was more comfortable :D I only hope it's enjoyable for you fabulous folks to read ^.^
> 
> Please excuse the angsty vibes in this chapter, as we're delving into Dean's past. Also, there's obviously some deviation from the series with regards to his family as this is an AU fic and not in the Supernatural universe :D
> 
> Hope you like this update! :)

Still admiring your new necklace during the journey home, you didn't notice Dean smiling at you until you looked up for the briefest moment. With a glowing smile in response, you returned to slowly rolling the amethyst pendant between your thumb and forefinger; admiring the way it caught the light of the setting sun.

"You still likin' it?" Dean asked.

"Definitely. I know I've said it a dozen times already, but thank you, Dean. Truly. This is just...amazing," you breathed out, "You're so kind to me."

"Well, princess, you deserve some kindness in your life. And plentya love, too. The man in your life, who was _**supposed**_ to offer you that, screwed up big time...so I hope I can make up for what you didn't get, y'know," he said earnestly. Shuffling along the bench seat, you made the bold move of nuzzling against his shoulder in a child-like gesture of affection

"You already are," you told him. Dean said nothing, but simply lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. Peering up at him, you saw that his mouth was spread into a sincere smile.

"You're a sweetheart, [Y/N]," he told you, squeezing you gently. A moment of silence followed before Dean spoke once more, "Y'know, you've been honest with me about the trouble you had with your dad. Maybe I should open up about mine?"

"Only if you want to, Dean, don't feel pressured," you assured him.

"Look at ya, like a little therapist already," the older man teased, "But really, I want to. It was real brave of you telling me about somethin' so personal. It's only fair I should show ya the same courtesy."

Humming in acknowledgement, you otherwise remained quiet, giving him the opportunity to begin confiding in you. You felt his arm tighten around you, saw his Adam's apple bob slightly.

 

"See, my dad...he was a good guy. Still is. Just...he's difficult," Dean started to explain, "When I was kid, he was always a little 'up and down', if you know what I mean? But for everything, he was a good dad. Mom kept him level, made sure he didn't go off the rails if he hit a low point." He smiled at the mention of his mother.

"She really was an angel. Dad used to say to her 'How would I cope without you, Mary?' and she'd just smile at him, like being out of his life wasn't ever gonna be an option," Dean chuckled sadly.

"Did-did something happen to her?" You asked, quiet and tentative.

"Yeah. Yeah, she, um, got cancer. I was ten, my brother Sam was only six. Mom went for the chemo treatment but...it was too much for her and we lost her," he told you, tightening his hold on you once more, "It completely tore Dad up. He just wasn't right after that, [Y/N], he went out of control. Started drinkin' way too much, got angry a lot of the time...y'know how it goes with that kinda thing. He just became totally unpredictable, one minute he was this sweet dad who'd be tellin' you how much you meant to him, the next he'd be saying he wished you'd never been born."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," you felt your throat close up a little while tears pricked your eyes.

"You ain't got anythin' to apologise for, sweetheart. Y'know, truth is, I don't hate him. I still love him, even with all the bullshit we went through. Sure, growing up with him actin' the way he did wasn't exactly an apple pie life, and then I was tryin' to get over Mom's death and look after Sammy...but I never hated him for all the crap he said and did. I just wished he'd find some kinda peace inside him and be that dad me and Sammy needed him to be. I really think he wanted that too, he just couldn't get it, he couldn't be the man he wanted to be."

 

"I went pretty nuts when I was hittin' twenty, didn't have my head screwed on right for a while. I mean, I tried my best to stay strong for Sam but...I always feel like I coulda done so much better if I'd just got my shit together. He deserved better than what me and Dad gave him. Lucky for us, even with everything, he did well for himself. Got into college, went to law school, managed to make somethin' outta himself. Me, on the other hand-" Dean began to chuckle, but you interrupted earnestly.

"-turned your life around and have become a lovely person!"

"You really are a total sweetheart," Dean threw his head back, laughing affectionately at your passionate outburst. "Well, I'm glad you think that, princess, and hey- if I say so myself- I'd have to agree with you. I think I've cleaned up pretty nicely."

"Definitely!"

"That's encouraging to hear," he replied cheerfully. You waited a few moments before softly questioning him.

"So...do you and your brother still talk to your dad or-?"

"I do. I keep in touch. Sam doesn't, he cut his ties as soon as he left for college. It's a damn shame, but I can't really blame him for keepin' his distance. He was just a kid when everything went to shit, the stuff that happens when you're that young can really mess you up," Dean said.

"You were a kid too, though, Dean? You were hurt just as much as he was?"

"I just learned to understand faster, [Y/N]. I had to, for Sammy," he shrugged his shoulders, but there was a forlorn expression on his face, "For _**Dad**_."

"That's a lot to carry on your shoulders at that age," you remarked, now dolefuly.

"It had to be done, [Y/N], no two ways about it," Dean told you.

 

You were both quiet for the remaining duration of the journey back home. When Dean pulled into the driveway and switched off the ignition of his beloved Impala, you looked up at him again.

"What-what was your mom like?" You asked timidly, fumbling with your necklace once more. Dean's hands, still gripping the steering wheel, slid down- the hiss of skin against the leather the only sound for a brief moment before the older man spoke-

"Like I said, an angel. She just...she was warm, y'know? Gentle. Seemed peaceful all the time, with herself and the world. I guess I'd go so far as to say, she was _**serene**_. I still love her and I still miss her. Between you and me, [Y/N], there are times when I just wanna hear her voice again and hug her. I'm...startin' to forget what she sounded like. I'm afraid of waking up one day and not remembering her voice...how she sounded when she'd sing me to sleep..."

"What did she used to sing to you?" You asked, your voice gentle, as you tread this uneasy ground carefully.

"'Hey Jude'," he responded with a nostalgic smile.

"You can still remember those moments with her?"

"Yeah. I remember that stuff. Like her making tomato rice soup when I was sick. Holding my hand when she walked me to school for the first time. Dancing around with me when I was five or somethin' with AC/DC in the background- we looked ridiculous, but damn it was fun-" He laughed at the memory, and you found yourself grinning.

"I think...as long as you can remember those precious moments with her...you shouldn't be afraid. You might not be able to remember her voice or, maybe sometimes her face...but you haven't forgotten _**her**_. You can still recall those times you had with her, you still remember the woman your mother was. That's the important thing...I, um, think," you faltered slightly, worried you'd sounded pretentious or condescending in some way. However, to your pleasant surprise, Dean just smiled at you, his eyes full of doting affection.

 

"You're right. I never thought of it like that," he said, "You think you've figured things out once you're my age, but then at some point, you realise there's more to it and you've barely scratched the surface. Takes an eighteen year old to remind us of that, I guess?" He added with a quiet chuckle, chucking you under the chin lightly. 

"Happy to help," you chimed, with a cheery shrug of your shoulders, smiling brightly at him.

"Y'know, one of the first things that drew me to your mom was her smile," Dean began.

"It is pretty infectious, I can see why it would," you giggled, fondly recollecting your mother's most radiant smile.

"It is. It's gorgeous. Then meeting you for the first time, and finally getting a smile from you, I thought to myself 'Man, that's familiar'," he explained.

"Oo, how so?"

"You got your mom's smile. Equally gorgeous and totally contagious-"

"Aw, thank you, Dean," you couldn't help but beam at him, fiddling absent-mindedly with the amethyst pendant that rested below your collarbone.

"Your welcome, princess. I guess that's why I'm drawn to you too," he added amiably, tenderly ruffling your hair, his thumb- likely unintentionally- brushing against your cheek. Refraining from shivering at his touch, you continued smiling up at him, your stomach fluttering as though a dozen butterflies were making some desperate bid to escape its confines. Even your heartbeat quickened at the ephemeral contact. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, of how your body would react to loving caresses and the feel of his hands roaming the length of your body, whilst he pressed tiny kisses along your throat-

 

Heat pooled in your face, as you realised you were still looking at him, but no longer smiling and your breathing slightly shallow. Dean didn't seem perturbed nor perplexed by this, instead looking back at you in something resembling curiosity. Was he trying to read between the lines? Was he speculating the cause of your daze? Or perhaps he was worried he'd said or done something to throw you off? Though, there was an odd glimmer in his eyes- they moved across your face, lingering on your lips-

"You okay there, [Y/N]?" He asked, his voice low. Shaken from your trance, you cleared your throat, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Um...I....yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, Dean. Zoned out for a second there," you apologised, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Don't worry about it, happens to us all. Hey, how's about we get all your new stuff put away and then we watch a DVD? Just take it easy and kick back for the evening?" Dean suggested jauntily.

"I'd love that!" You agreed, enthusiastically.

"Awesome," Dean concurred, grinning handsomely at you. It was wonderful yet unsettling; you felt yourself yearning to be in Dean's company, cherishing the bond you had begun developing with him and craving his affection.

You wanted his love.

You wanted _**him**_.


	6. And Just A Big Old Pinch Of Awkwardness

When your mom returned home from work later in the evening, you and Dean had reached the conclusion of Mad Max:Fury Road- stacked bowls coated in leftover pasta sauce balanced on the coffee table, strongly suggesting that you'd both been eating in the living room as opposed to the kitchen. You snuggled down into your soft blanket, with a sheepish expression on your face the moment your mother took in the view.

"Seems like you two enjoyed your evening," she chuckled, glancing at the TV screen and quoting the movie enthusiastically, " _ **What a day! What a lovely day!**_ "

"All the better for seeing you, sweet stuff," Dean sprang up from the sofa lithely, pressing a kiss to your mom's lips.

"Mmm, there's the tomato and basil breath that stole my heart," your mom replied, giggling.

"Hey, mom! Sorry about the dishes. And for eating in here," you apologised ruefully, nestling into the blanket.

"Oh, don't worry about it, hun," she brushed the apology off lightly, clearly eager to return to kissing Dean. You could hardly blame her, though you couldn't help but feel somewhat uncomfortable and tried not to look upon their lovers' embraces. There was a strange pang of something in your chest, like an ache or stab of a feeling that settled uneasily inside you.

"So the shopping trip went pretty well, I gotta say. You should see the stuff [Y/N] picked up at some point," Dean managed to say, after affectionately prising your mother's lips off of his for a moment.

"Great, but first, I'm _**starving** _ , I gotta get something to eat. Then you can show off your new things to me, hun," your mom beamed at you,

"Ha, sounds like a plan," you smiled back at her.

"Awesome. Hey, I just gotta go visit the bathroom, I'll be back soon. You two do your mother-daughter thing and gossip shamelessly about the day while I'm gone," Dean joked, giving you both a jaunty wave and disappearing upstairs to the bathroom.

"Ohhh, wouldn't dream of doing that!" Your mom called up the stairs sarcastically, all in good spirits. "C'mon, let's go in the kitchen, I may be hungry but I want to hear all about your day!" She beckoned to you to follow, which you did, casting off your blanket and pushing yourself up off the couch.

 

You told your mom about the events of the day, becoming more lively as you described the trip and your developing bond with Dean (though, tactfully, you chose to omit the more awkward moments between you and him). While speaking, you absently fiddled with your beautiful necklace, running your finger across the pendant. Throughout your enthusiastic recounting of the day, your mom's smile grew wider and happier. Telling her about the hug you gave him after he bought your necklace, she burst out delightedly-

"Amazing, I'm so happy you two are getting along so well! Honest to God, I was terrified of you both clashing or being apathetic with one another. I can't tell you how relieved I am, [Y/N]," your mom breathed out a sigh.

"Me too! He's so nice, Mom, I'm glad you chose him," you gushed.

"I'm sure you are," she teased, a worryingly knowing smile in place. You felt yourself become cold and then burn hot all over.

"Whaddya mean, Mom?"

"I'm just saying, I'm sure you're glad I picked him," she, more or less, reiterated cryptically.

"It's just- the way you're saying it-" You stammered nervously, fingers brushing over the amethyst pendant of your necklace agitatedly.

"It's not hard to see you've got a little crush on him, honey," your mom said fondly, reaching forward and cupping your cheek. Your expression must have been one of mortification, because your mother immediately began reassuring you, "Hey, don't feel embarrassed. It's normal. I mean, he's a handsome guy, he's sweet, funny...and he's the first man in your life to show you affection and love. He's giving you what your dad should have, so it's only natural you're gonna develop an attachment to him."

"Oh my God, I sound like a case study in a psychology textbook," you groaned, shaking your head from side to side.

"Believe me, you're not the first or the worst," she said, a merry little rhyme she often used to console you, pulling you in for a comforting hug.

 _ **But I feel like the worst because I want your boyfriend to myself, Mom,**_ you thought guiltily.

"Please don't feel bad, baby girl, you know I totally understand. As for Dean, whether he realises or not, he'd understand too," she insisted, only making you feel more distressed.

 

Some number of hours later, you were tucked up in bed for the night, just perusing your favourite fan fiction site for any new stories or updates. Scrolling through in search of some enjoyable bedtime reading, from your mom's bedroom-adjacent to your own room-you heard her and Dean talking.

"...she was so happy when she was telling me about your day out together. She was almost giddy, it was so sweet," your mom was telling him.

"No kiddin'?"

"Nope, I kid you not- I'm not sure I've ever seen her so happy talking about a shopping trip. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her so happy, _**period**_ ," she told him. You felt your face heat up.

"That's great, that's really great," Dean sounded _**flattered**_ , "Honestly, she's an awesome little lady. I love her, I really do, and I'm not just sayin' this to stay in your 'good books', [Y/M/N], but hand-on-heart...if she was my daughter, I'd be proud to be her dad," There was so much sincerity in his tone, you felt your heart swell with adoration for him. _**He loves me,**_ you internally squealed, warmth seeping throughout your body.

"Judging by how well you two have been getting along, I'd say she's as good as," your mom spoke softly.

"Oh, I dunno about that, but I know she trusts me. Considerin' what happened with her dad, that ain't easy," Dean sighed. A brief silence between he and your mother suggested to you that she'd given him a querying look. "She told me about what he did. What he put ya both through."

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you tell me, cherry?" Based purely on his gentle tone and the affectionate pet-name, Dean was likely disappointed your mother hadn't explained what truly happened.

"How do you tell someone your ex-husband was a manic depressive, cheating drug addict who abandoned you and your daughter?" She replied wanly.

"Just...sit 'em down, hold their hand-" Another silence led you to believe Dean had taken your mother's hand in his own, "-and you do the best you can. Doesn't matter if you cry or don't know exactly what to say. You know I'm always gonna listen to you, don't ya?  I told you about my dad and the crap I got up to when I was a kid, 'cause I trusted you not to push me away and you didn't. You listened. You held my hand. You kissed me. Trust me to treat you the same way, [Y/M/N], not to judge you for what happened. I love ya, y'know that?"

"Yeah, I know. I love you too, Dean," said your mom. You assumed, at that point, they shared a tender embrace. There was a fleeting moment where a sense of loneliness overcame you, where you wondered if anyone would ever utter such loving words to you. Would someone, one day, adore you the way Dean clearly adored your mom?

 

Thankfully, your somewhat morose train of through came to a screeching halt when your phone chimed softly, indicating a text message. Tapping out of your internet browser, you opened up your texts, to discover the message was from your beloved, gregarious friend, Taylor.

**Taylor: Duuuuudddee....I know's it kinda short notice, bruh, but just wondered if you wanted to meet up tomorrow? Rachel and Ally are cool to come along. We're gonna do loads of fun shizz and eat pizza. Can I tempt you over to the dark side, amigo? :D xxx**

You grinned, hearing your best friend's voice simply through reading her text. Keen to rid yourself of that strange sensation of loneliness and longing, you eagerly responded to her message.

**You: Sounds fun! I'm in! :D how can I turn down 'fun shizz' and pizza? :p xxx**

**Taylor: Sweet! Gurl, we gonna have soooo much fun! xxx**

Quickly arranging a destination in your nearby town and selecting a time to meet up, you bade your dear friend goodnight and set your phone aside. Lying back, beneath your duvet, you rolled onto your side and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would take you soon. Distracted by the short texting session with your friend, you hadn't realised that your mom and Dean had resumed their conversation, the topic of which had, funnily enough, moved back to you.

"...she's really taken with you, Dean," your mom was broaching an awkward topic. _**No, Mom, pleeeeease don't-**_

"I know, right? We've gotten close in no time!"

"I mean to say, I think she has a crush on you," she said. _**ARGHHHH, NO, MOM! WHY? WHY DO YOU BETRAY ME?**_ You found yourself shrieking inside your head.

"A crush? Nah, can't be. I think she's just fond o' me 'cause I load her up with pizza and spaghetti and let her browse in stores till her heart's content," Dean joked in response. _**Thank you, Dean, thank you for sparing me any further embarrassment**_ , you found yourself deeply grateful for his gentle dismissal of your 'crush'.

 

"Oh, how oblivious men can be," your mom teased him, "I'm telling you now, Dean, [Y/N] is an eighteen year old girl, who's never had a boyfriend, and is finally getting lavished with attention and affection by a handsome older man- I think it's _**inevitable**_ that she'd end up smitten with you at some point." _**Oh my God, Mom, telling him I have the hots for him is bad enough....casually throw in that I've never had a boyfriend too? Thanks, Mom!**_

"I bet she'd love to hear you tellin' me that," Dean answered, playfully sarcastic, "But, you're kiddin' right? She's got to have had a boyfriend at some point, right?" _**Kill me,**_ you considered smothering your head with a pillow to blot out their conversation.

"Nope. She'd have told me. We're close, I like to think she'd tell me if she started dating a boy," your mom said.

"Huh. I'm actually kinda surprised," Dean admitted ponderously.

"Well, a lot of girls don't get into the 'boyfriend' scene until college, so it's not out of the ordinary. I'd rather her wait for someone who's right for her than feel pressured to be with a boy because it's expected," your mom was quick to rally, interpreting Dean's remark as a negative comment.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. No, that's totally normal. I meant more...well, she's a sweetheart, so I'm surprised nobody's tried snatching her up yet. And, well, she's a...um, real pretty young woman-"

"She's beautiful!" Your mom agreed. You knew when she said you were beautiful, she didn't simply mean exterior looks, but the person you were on the inside. After all, you were her 'baby girl', you were her living, breathing treasure, the only thing she could thank your father for.

"Um, she is, yeah. Didn't wanna say, I thought it might sound kinda weird," Dean confessed.

He thought you were beautiful, inside and out! You clung to your duvet, then pressed your lips together to stop yourself from giggling like an elated schoolgirl...


	7. Can't Help But Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely readers o' mine, my sincerest apologies for vanishing into the ether once more! My final major project at college has been taking up my time, not to mention sorting out all manner of things for university (grr, student finance, grr!) and revising for a driving theory test X( 
> 
> So, to the best of my abilities at this moment in time, I give you the next installment of this fic. It is very short, I'm afraid, but that's all I can manage without taking a millenia to update XD
> 
> As a heads up, this chapter is very sexual, so just in case that's not your cup of tea.....well, here's a warning...
> 
> But to be honest, why would you be reading this fic in the first place if you didn't want filthy smut? ;D

After washing yourself up, you dressed yourself in your outfit for the day; a soft, dark purple off-the-shoulder top, a simple black, string-strap vest beneath, denim shorts and patterned, lace pantyhose that flattered the shape of your legs. The finishing touch to your attire was, of course, Dean's necklace- the colour of which worked beautifully against the deep purple hue of your top. Quickly collecting your bag and slipping your phone into it, you padded downstairs to have your breakfast. Dropping your bag onto the couch and wandering into the kitchen, you expected to be greeted by the sight of both your mom and Dean at the table. That morning, however, it was just your mom, munching on a seeded bagel and taking a sip of her tea.

"Hey, Mom, how's it going?"

"Good. You're looking very snazzy today, are you heading out with your friends?" She asked.

"Uh huh! Meeting up with Taylor, Rachel and Ally. I've been promised 'fun shizz and pizza', to quote Taylor," you said, picking out some cereal from the cupboard and placing it on the dining table.

"How could anyone turn that down?" Your mom joked, taking another bite out of her bagel. Placing down a bowl and spoon, you threw a cursory glance towards the chair Dean had taken to occupying.

 

"Hey, Mom, um, where's Dean?"

"He got called into work, The guy covering for him at the garage while he's on vacation, his wife went into labour in the early hours of the morning so Dean's had to go back for the day," she explained.

"Oh right," you nodded, "Any idea what time he'll be back?"

"Not until five, probably. I can let him know you'll be out for the day, so he shouldn't worry if he comes back to an empty house?" Your mom offered, assuming that was the reason behind your question. Not overly keen on admitting what your motivation was, you took your mom's assumption and clung to it like a life-line.

"Please and thank you!" You cooed, sitting down at the table and tucking into your breakfast cereal.

* * *

Meeting up with your friends proved to be a wise choice; you had an enormous amount of fun. You all began simply wandering about shops, perusing cosmetics stands or browsing through interesting clothing and jewellery. Shop browsing turned into trying on as ridiculous a combination of clothes as possible, and seeing who was the most disastrous. The four of you were in peals of laughter, snapping photos of one another, pulling a wide array of amusing faces or posing comically. 

Next, it was a game of laser tag- which never failed to get you all giggling and excited, scurrying around in the darkened room, ducking behind non-descript blocks and pillars, trying to 'hit' one another.

After that was a wonderful sit-down meal in the nearby pizza restaurant; so you all chattered away about all manner of subjects, shovelling down pizza, garlic bread and ice cream together.

Finally, to cap off the brilliant outing, you and your dear friends spent some time in the arcade; going from playing a fast-paced game of air hockey to laughing at atrocious scores on dance machines. When it was time to part ways and return home, you all bade one another farewell with hugs and promises to meet again soon

 Catching a bus back home, you looked out of the large window at the landscape rolling past. You were feeling a lingering euphoria from your brilliant get-together with your friends, and every so often, you caught yourself smiling. Though, if you were to be completely honest with yourself, it was also because you'd be returning home to _**Dean**_. You were brimming with enthusiasm, bursting to tell him all about your outing- from the hilarious ensembles you were modelling for your friends to the antics in the arcade. 

 

Perhaps he'd be sat down in the kitchen with a coffee, ready to hear about your day? Maybe he'd ask you? Would he give you a warm hug when you got back? _**Maybe a kiss on the forehead ?**_ Would he laugh with you or simply smile and chuckle at your recounting of the day? He'd been to work, though, so you'd definitely ask about his day and how he was feeling and-

 _ **Okay, I better dial this down a bit, don't want him to think I'm too keen. Might creep him out,**_ you quickly reminded yourself.

You couldn't wait to see his lovely face and hear that husky timbre of his, feel those strong arms wrap you up in an embrace-

_**Stop it, [Y/N], stop it, control yourself!** _

Quickly pulling your phone from your bag, you began absently surfing the internet in an effort to divert your attention. The moment you reached your stop, you gathered your things and stepped off of the bus, thanking the driver perfunctorily. You couldn't wait to get home so you could speak to Dean-

_**Christ, I'm obsessed, this is unhealthy...** _

 

Walking with long, purposeful strides up the street you lived on, you kept an eye out for the black Chevy Impala that _**should**_ have been parked on the driveway of your home. Bag bouncing against your hip, you picked up the pace, while fiddling with the pendant of your beautiful necklace. As excpected, you saw Dean's car parked up- the sight of which spurred you on to scurry up towards your house and rummage around in your bag for the key. Scrabbling briefly in the lock, you finally pushed in the key and twisted it around, opening up the door. Shutting behind you, you called out softly into the hallway-

"Dean?"

There wasn't a response. Kicking off your boots, you padded into the kitchen, thinking you would find him sat down at the table with a cup of coffee. Oddly enough, the kitchen was empty; so after dropping your bag on the seat of your dining chair, you wandered back out into the hallway. Opening the door to the living room, and with a mere glance you knew he wasn't in there either.

"Dean?" You called again; gently, however, as you didn't wish to seem obtrusive. Climbing the stairs, you looked around the landing. Figuring he was most likely to be in your mom's bedroom, you knocked lightly on the door. Nothing happened!

 

Slightly concerned- which seemed rather silly considering Dean's car was parked up- you quietly opened the door, wondering if he was just resting. You needed desperately to check, to be sure he was _**there**_ and that he was _**okay**_. As soon as your mother's room came into view, you immediately looked over at the bed, to see nobody occupying or laying atop the duvet. Instead, you saw an oil stained t-shirt, torn jeans and boxers. It struck you in an instant-

_**Oh....he's showering...** _

Though you were loathed to admit it, the thought of Dean in the shower was more 'stimulating' than it ought to have been. An ill-begotten heat rose to your cheeks, while you turned your to head to look in the direction of the en-suite bathroom. Both to your surprise and pleasure (the feeling stirred guilt in your heart), you noticed the door was cracked open. It was fair enough, seeing as it was an en-suite bathroom, he wasn't going to have someone bursting in on him.

He probably wasn't expecting you for another hour, if your mom had sent him a message. It had only just turned quarter past five, _**surely plenty of time before you returned home**_.

Hence the low, blissful groan you heard over the cascading water of the shower.

 

" _ **Dean,**_ " you said, voice barely above a whisper. For a second, you thought he was in discomfort, but the prolonged groan that followed his first signified he was _**far**_ from being in pain. You crept across the carpet, towards the door that led back out onto the landing. Face burning and heart fluttering, you felt deeply embarrassed for intruding on such a private moment for Dean.

_**Is he actually...? No....can't be. Maybe...?** _

A soft, shuddering moan did little but confirm your suspicions.

 _ **I think he is, oh my God...I need to get out of here,**_ you thought, feeling panicked. Your fingers closed around the handle of the bedroom door; all you had to do was twist it down, quietly, tiptoe out and shut the door behind you. _**That was it**_.

You didn't. You hovered, hesitating, frozen in place. Instead of leaving, you stayed to _**listen**_ -

_**If this isn't depravity I don't know what it is.** _

 

Lifting your other hand to your face, and nibbled anxiously on the tip of your index finger; a gesture of agitation you'd picked up many years ago. You crept over to the bathroom door, now clutching the pendant of your necklace between thumb and forefinger. You knew what you were doing was reprehensible, but your body was urging you on, your curiosity. The sinful intrigue of seeing a naked male body _**in person**_ , getting to look at a man at his most vulnerable yet most delectable; it was too tempting to walk away from.

And if he was pleasuring himself, that would only add to this wonderful, nerve-wracking, erotic experience. Trembling all over, you oh-so-slowly pushed the already open door, widening the crack.

You felt like you're stomach had risen to your throat, your heart half-way to punching through your ribcage, while a tingling warmth spread across your lower belly. Upon hearing another soft groan, the heat pooled between your thighs, while your limbs quaked. Positioning yourself at the crack in the door, you were able to see into the bathroom, the slight humidity from the shower settling on your skin. While there was a misting across the shower door, it was only in small patches, so you could quite clearly see Dean.

 

One arm was raised, his hand laid flat against the tiling, while his head hung down at an angle with his forehead touching the tile. His other hand was between his legs, tugging leisurely at his dick. The water rained over him, pattering loudly against the shower base. His eyes were closed, as he undoubtedly was enjoying the sensations coursing through his beautiful body. His smooth, tanned skin shone as trails of water trickled down his neck, over his broad shoulders and ran in sensual rivulets along his back and chest.

_**God, his back...** _

His back was sweet perfection, that defined line of muscle tone proudly at its centre, and the swell of his biceps made something within you _**quiver**_. It wasn't simply that he looked 'in shape' or in possession of some sumptuous muscle mass- there was something so fundamentally _**masculine**_ about him, it tugged at the most basest of your instincts and urges. So different, so desriable; where he was hard, you would have been soft, angular where you were curved...

 

Drawn from your thoughts upon hearing another low groan, much clearer now that you and he were no longer separated by a door. Each time he slid his hand back and forth, he twisted the skin of his shaft gently; causing him to curl forward in eager anticipation of his orgasm. Though you could not see it, you imagined the head of Dean's dick was leaking pre-cum profusely-

 _ **Oh my God,**_ you had to stifle a whimper. You just _**knew**_ your underwear was going to be damp with your arousal...

With a heaving sigh, Dean began slowly thrusting his hips, sliding in and out of his own fist. He pulled his other hand away from the tiling of the shower cubicle and used it to massage his balls.

"F-fuck," he whispered shakily, thrusting into his hand, before moaning quietly, " _ **Ah...you like that, huh?**_ " You didn't especially want to think about who he was imagining, wanting only to focus on the wondrous sight of **him**. The woman of his fantasy scenario could, as far as you were concerned, remain a mystery. His hips quickened, every forward thrust punctuated by a low grunt and wet, soft slurping sound. Dean leant his forehead against the tile, those beautiful lips parted to allow those tiny sounds to escape.

 

You'd never so badly yearned for a man's body to be pressed against yours as you did in that moment. You wanted Dean to be moving inside you with the same sensual, slow rhythm, feel those hands clutching at your softness and running through your hair and swallow those deep moans with sweet kisses. You wanted him to  _ **teach you**_...it was the cliched fantasy of seedy novels; the older man, an experienced lover, cherishing your body and helping you liberate your sexuality. It didn't matter to you how cliched it was, you grew eager to know what it was like to make love to someone, to be touched, to be taken to heights of pleasure by someone else...

" _ **Tell me you like it...wanna hear you say it...fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart,**_ " he whispered once more to himself, lost in his glorious fantasy, " _ **So beautiful...makin' you all dirty...**_ " His voice cracked as he approached orgasm.

Backing away suddenly from the bathroom, you crept out of the bedroom and across the landing. Slipping into your own room and shutting the door, you tugged off your denim shorts and hurriedly peeled off your pantyhose. In a flurry of excitement and nerves, shaking from the surge of hormones within your body, you dragged your panties down your legs and abandoned them on the carpeted floor of your room.

Laying back on your bed, you thought of Dean in the shower; imagining him coming to you in your room, whispering promises of the rapturous bliss he would have you revelling in, telling you he'd show you what you'd not already been shown. He would put his hands in places that had never been touched by anyone but you-

With that, your own hand slid down between your legs, its only purpose at that moment in time; to soothe the thrumming ache of desire...


	8. You're Safe When I'm Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey, lovely people! Chapter eight is here! It's fairly dialogue-heavy, just so you know, and it is quite fluffy in places :3
> 
> A lot of you were really pleased with the last chapter (thank goodness!) so I hope this one doesn't leave anything to be desired, or at the very least, doesn't disappoint :') nothing major happens, but it does lead up to something....however, THAT is for the next chapter to reveal ;D hehehe...
> 
> Enjoy, my fabulous readers! <3

After cleaning yourself up and re-dressing, you sidled out of your room and padded downstairs. As it so happened, Dean had still not yet left the bathroom, so you were able to fabricate some story about 'only getting in about five minutes ago'. To calm your mind and settle the fluttering of your heart, you settled down at your piano keyboard and began practising your scales. That often helped channel your focus, but as it was, images of Dean in the shower and the lingering tingle of your self-induced orgasm sought to disrupt your concentration.

In the midst of working through an E minor arpeggio, Dean came into the living room; a distinct spring in his step. You swivelled your head around to acknowledge his entrance.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted you buoyantly.

"Hi, Dean," you answered, voice coming out in a girly, high pitch.

"Hope I didn't interrupt...?" He gestured towards the piano keyboard, smiling ruefully.

"Oh-oh, no," you chuckled, taking your hands from the keys and placing them in your lap, "Just doing some arpeggios."

"Sounds very professional," he remarked jauntily, quirking his eyebrows up.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but- y'know, takes a little while to get them perfect," you replied bashfully. Looking down at your hands, you remembered that you were, not ten minutes ago, bringing yourself to blissful satisfaction with your fingers; thinking of the man talking to you at that very moment.

 

"It sounded real nice, whatever it is you were doin'," he told you encouragingly, standing close and rubbing your back, just between your shoulders, in a gesture of reassuring affection. You looked up at him, with an almost docile expression. "Anyways, your mom told me you went out with your friends, though I probably woulda figured that seein' as you're all dolled up- did ya have a good time?"

"Yes I did, thank you!" You answered, clasping your hands together and beaming up at him.

"C'mon then, [Y/N], give me all the 'dirty deets'," Dean urged you, with his signature affable charm.

"Oh, well, we did the usual girly stuff and wandered around shops. Then we decided to try on stupid outfits- we had a competition to see who could come up with the craziest ensemble," you giggled, thinking back on the whacky combinations you and your friends had concocted. Dean let out a bark of laughter.

"Who won?" He asked, smiling widely.

"Yours truly," you adopted a kittenish pose, sending yourself up.

"'Course you did, why'd I even bother to ask?" He teased you, tapping you gently on the arm with his knuckles. You laughed at his response.

"It was _**so**_ fun. Then we played laser tag, which was awesome as per usual, ate pizza and then messed around in the arcade for a while. Oh man, we were going totally nuts on the dance machines! Like, those things are so outdated, you have to stamp on them just so they register a dance step. Me and Taylor were practically jumping up and down, trying to win against Rachel and Ally. It was great, it really was," you babbled excitedly.

"Awesome, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart," Dean said, moving as though he were about to walk away, but you quickly piped up with a question.

 

"Oh, how was work? Mom said you had to go in today to cover for the guy who was covering for **_you_**."

"It was fine, really, fixin' up cars, getting covered in motor oil, the usual-" he answered, "Nothin' as excitin' as your day." Dean added with a light-hearted chuckle.

 "Ha..." You let out a huff of laughter, before adding shyly, "Sorry for rambling on before."

"What? Nah, don't apologise. You've just an awesome day, I'd be surprised if you weren't talkin' about it," he assured you, resting an arm around your shoulders.

"I just- I don't want to seem annoying or anything," you laughed, knotting your fingers together.

"You know what I find annoyin'? People who don't enjoy life or get excited about anything, the ones who sit and bitch about pointless crap," Dean told you candidly, "It doesn't matter if you've been through the shit or you've had a functional upbringing, if you can't at least appreciate what you've been given and make the most of it, I don't wanna waste my time."

"You, on the other hand-" he said, lowering himself onto the piano stool beside you, "-are doin' stuff that makes you happy enough that you wanna tell me, you wanna laugh and smile about it. _**That**_ is somethin' I admire."

"Even if I babble about that stuff?" You asked with a small grin.

"Even if you babble about it," he replied, smiling genially. "It's quite cute, actually." He remarked concedingly, smirking.

"I guess that's much better than a kick in the teeth," you giggled, causing Dean to give a short whoop of laughter. "Feels kinda weird being called 'cute' at eighteen," you confessed, looking over at Dean.

"Really? I always thought it was one of those compliments that can't go wrong," Dean leaned back, the corners of his mouth turning down in a contemplative pout.

 

"Oh no, I didn't mean- it was really kind of you to say! Thank you! I didn't mean to sound so...I don't even know...ungrateful, I just-"

"Hey, don't worry about it, sweetheart. At your age, you wanna be called 'beautiful' or 'gorgeous' or 'stunnin' '. Am I right or have I missed the mark completely?" He looked to you for confirmation.

"You pretty much got it," you agreed, rather shyly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Thought so," Dean snorted, "It's nothing to feel bad about, sweetheart. I understand. 'Cute' is fine when you're a kid, right? Doesn't feel so good as an adult? Makes you feel less..." Dean searched for the right word, hands held up in mid-air as though weighing the relevancy of a word in this particular context.

"Desirable," you answered, a sudden rush of reticence making you shrink in your seat. Dean gave you a significant look which made you suddenly regret speaking up.

"Y'know, I've always thought 'cute' meant you had somethin' real special about ya, somethin' that makes people just want to be with you. Makes you easy to love and hard to ignore," was his thoughtful response.

"So _**that's**_   what you mean when you call me cute?"

"Definitely," Dean nodded, green eyes soft and full of sincerity. "And, between you and me, [Y/N]-" he leant towards you, as if he were about to divulge some secret, "-those kinda qualities are what make a woman desirable." You smiled, a warmth flooding your chest.

"Thank you, Dean," you said. Was he calling _**you**_ desirable?

 _ **Oh no, no no no, don't you dare think that,**_ you chided your wishful thoughts.

 

"Hey, I was just wonderin', [Y/N], you got anything comin' up soon? Piano lesson? Ridin' lesson?" Dean asked. Pulling yourself out of the fleeting daze you'd slipped into, you looked him in the face.

"Oh, ah, I have a riding lesson. But that won't be until next week," you told him.

"Yeah? Anythin' you feel like doing? Summer vacation and all, you might as well make the most of it," he suggested. You tilted your head, gazing upward in a ponderous manner and humming thoughfully.

"Well...I was thinking..."

"Hmmm?" Dean hummed in response.

"I don't know, it's kind of awkward in a way-"

"Uh huh?" Dean ushered you along, a crooked smile appearing on his face.

"I suppose it would be nice to go swimming, but-"

"But....?"

"I can't actually swim," you confessed, giggling.

 

"Wow, no kidding?" Dean snickered affectionately.

"No kidding!" You laughed, kicking your legs back and forth and tapping your fingers upon your knees.

"You never got taught how?" He asked, clearly a little surprised that you weren't trained in such a valuable skill.

"Nope- well, actually...I just...I didn't really....it didn't work out. So I just didn't bother to go back to it, I guess," you explained.

"Did you not like it or somethin'? Or did somethin' bad happen?"

"Not as such, a few frights but nothing bad. I think it's the thought of ending up...y'know...under the water and not being able to breathe," you said with a huff of timid laughter.

"Which is a rational fear in and of itself," Dean chuckled lightly, "But that only happens if you panic and somethin' goes wrong. If you know what you're doin'...it's kinda nice chilling out under water. Not for too long though-"

"Nope, of course not, gotta come up for air," you tittered.

"Oxygen, am I right? It's great stuff!" Dean extolled jokingly.

"I know it's shit-scary, [Y/N]. I remember being terrified as a kid when I first started learning how to swim. For a young adult who's never learned, I can see how that'd freak you out even more," he acknowledge kindly.

"I don't like the thought of drowning!"

"Nah, 'course not. Well....maybe, if you want to, _**I**_ could try teachin' you?"

 

You stared at Dean, wide-eyed, wondering if he was being serious. "Are-are you sure?"

"Yeah, if you're game for it. Granted, I ain't an instructor, but I think I'm competent enough to get you swimming alright," Dean continued.

"But...but I'm really bad...like, you'll probably get irritated by how bad I am," you fretted.

"I won't, I'm a chill kinda guy, sweetheart. Besides, gettin' mad at you isn't gonna exactly encourage ya! We'll start simple: get ya comfortable with staying up in the water, teach you breaststroke- that's always nice for beginners- and we'll get you swimming a couple of laps," Dean was planning ahead, apparently enthusiastic to teach you.

"Um, you're totally sure you want to teach me how to swim?" You were so astounded someone- _**some guy**_ -was so willing and so genuinely keen to help you, that it didn't seem to be sinking in properly.

"Absolutely, princess, gotta make sure you can look after yourself if anythin' happened to you. Should be fun too, right?"

"I hope so," you smiled anxiously.

"Don't look so nervous, you know I'll look after ya, princess," Dean said gently, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and nestling you close to him.

"You won't let me go under the water, right?" You looked up at him; eyes big and imploring, your expression full of worry.

"I won't let that happen. I'll keep you safe, baby girl, I always will," was his firm, reassuring promise to you, before he pressed a tiny kiss to your temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to any experienced swimmers, in case you're all thinking 'Wait, hold up now, I can swim just fine!' It's for the sake of the plot, I promise! :'D
> 
> Lots of love to you all! <3


	9. I'd Never Let You Drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first off, from the bottom of my heart, I'm truly sorry for disappearing for so long, folks. Life has been SO hectic lately; I literally finished college this Monday gone, after a chaotic few weeks of setting up an art exhibition, which contributed to my final grade. On top of that, I was preparing for a piano exam, which was doing my anxiety no favours XD then of course, the craziness of general life got in the way (feels like I've been running a LOT of errands this week! XD)
> 
> Also, being completely open and honest with you all, I actually came off anti-depressants a couple of weeks ago :) I'm doing absolutely fine and I felt ready to finally stop taking them, but I have occasional moments where my mind isn't necessarily in the best place. As you can imagine, that's not much use when you're trying to write stories XD so rather than give you all sub-par fan fiction, I figured I'd just wait until I was feeling up to writing slightly less sub-par fan fiction XD
> 
> So here, at last, is an update! :D I only hope that it was at least worth the very long wait.
> 
> As ever, my lovely readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

On the morning of your improvised swimming lesson with Dean, with commendable efficiency, you made sure all your necessary areas were smooth and shaven. After doing so, within the privacy of your bedroom, you slipped on your swimming costume; a simple black one-piece with coloured stripes across the midriff. Peering at yourself in your full-length mirror, you tried- to no avail- to quell your self-consciousness and lingering insecurities. Turning this way and that, you watched your reflection; so meek and fearful. Hunched up, you were doing no justice for your body or, more importantly, your state of mind- so instead you stood tall, hands on your waist and began smiling at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head with coquettish mischief.

 _ **Mm, much better,**_ you thought. Sometimes it was best to fake an air of confidence to feel _**real**_ confidence. You began trying out various poses, purely for fun, ranging from flirtatious and cute to seductive and sexy. Slightly worried about what Dean would think of you in your bathing suit, you felt your confidence falter...

Then, almost as suddenly, you reminded yourself he was teaching you how to swim, not judging you on the shape and build of your physique. Regardless of what you looked like, you were still his 'princess' and his 'sweetheart'; it was unlikely he would be evaluating your appearance anymore than he did when you were in regular clothing. Smiling again, you pulled on a pair of jeans and slid a t-shirt over your bathing suit.

Though Dean would be seeing you in a costume, you in turn would be seeing him. Recalling the afternoon you'd intruded upon a particularly private moment for Dean, you pictured his incredible body-

It would be a struggle not to think of him in such a way; you'd fantasised about him often enough, your mind frequently drifting back to that moment throughout the day and as you lay in bed at night. You would sometimes find yourself staring at his hands, still able to clearly conjure up the image of Dean pleasuring himself with them. Sometimes, you would let your eyes linger on his waist, his narrow hips and the area between his legs- imagining your own hands clutching at him, while his hips rocked back and forth, moving inside of you.

 

Shoving clean underwear, a towel, some old flip-flops you'd unearthed in a storage cupboard and a hairbrush into a duffel bag, you heaved it onto your shoulder and made your way downstairs. Your mom had some of her work-related textbooks laid across the dining table, reading up on particular topics while sipping on some tea. Dean was stood by the kitchen counters, scrolling downwards on his phone and tapping on the screen from time to time.

"Hey, princess," he greeted you, glancing up from his phone, "So, I've made sure we're going along for an 'adults only' time slot at the pool. Just means we won't have any screamin' kids and annoyin' tweens around."

"Great! Sounds perfect," you grinned at him.

"Figured you'd appreciate that," Dean chuckled, "Gets awkward tryin' to learn how to swim if you've gotta ton of people in the way."

"Too true, it'd probably make me more nervous," you admitted, placing your duffel bag on your dining chair and getting a glass of water.

"I'm really proud of you for giving this a go, hun," your mom said, "I know it's something that makes you anxious. Hopefully you'll come out of it feeling like you've made progress. That should give you a nice confidence boost."

"We'll see! I hope it works out," you smiled sheepishly.

"We'll make sure it goes well, sweetheart," Dean assured you, winking playfully. You responded simply by crossing your fingers and taking a sip of water.

* * *

During the car journey to the fitness centre, you fidgeted in your seat; which did not go unnoticed by Dean.

"Nervous, huh?"

"Yeah, kinda," you said bashfully.

"I'd say 'don't be' but that never works. What can you actually do, y'know, in terms of swimming?"

"Um....I can get in the pool," you answered, half-joking. Dean laughed, smiling that handsome smile of his.

"Good start. Anythin' else?" He asked, taking his eyes off the road for the briefest moment to look at you.

"Does 'doggy paddling' count?" You inquired, slightly embarrassed, with a rueful smile. Dean's lips twitched into a crooked smirk.

"Not to burst your bubble, baby girl, but I don't think it does. Unless you got four legs and a tail, I think the 'doggy paddle' ain't really proper swimming technique," Dean told you, with a perfect combination of humour and sympathy.

"I thought as much," you snickered, "You've really got your work cut out for you."

"Maybe, but it ain't gonna be impossible. We'll get ya swimming in no time, [Y/N], just you wait!" Dean insisted, with encouraging optimism. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he slid his other arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side. You snuggled close, resting your head against him and breathing in the smell of his soap and the freshly laundered scent of his over-shirt.

 

Arriving at the centre, you and Dean both grabbed your respective duffel bags from the backseat. You watched him sling the duffel bag effortlessly onto his shoulder; something about the careless, confident manner in which he did so seemed to stir something inside you. Walking toward the fitness centre together, you peered up at him, almost as if seeking reassurance. The older man all but flashed a sunlit smile in your direction, which had you grinning.

Reaching the reception desk, Dean leaned over the counter to ask about payment and lockers for you both. While the arrangements were being made, you fiddled idly with the thick strap of your duffel bag, peering around. There was a strong smell of chlorine wading through the place, teamed with the inoffensive scent of 'new carpet'. You spotted a few people sat in the small cafeteria sipping cups of coffee. Further ahead you saw a long glass partition, separating the foyer from the swimming pool. Your stomach tightened with apprehension at the thought of wading out into all that water....

"[Y/N]?" Dean's voice pulled you from your little bubble of speculation. You swivelled round to look at him, a tiny apologetic smile flickering across your face.

"Hey, sorry about that," you said bashfully.

"It's cool, c'mon, we can go get changed. Here's your locker key, little lady," he told you, dropping a waterproof, adjustable wrist band into your palm. You saw a small, numbered key attached to it. "Locker rooms are just down here." He added, placing a hand on your back and guiding you toward the glass partition. Approaching it, you realised there were large archways, to your left and right, with carpeted hallways leading to gender labelled doors. Gesturing to the door on your right, Dean told you gently-

"Ladies' is just down there, sweetheart. Obviously I can't come with ya," he chuckled, trying to soothe your evident anxiety. "You'll be okay, y'know that? I'm not gonna let anythin' bad happen to ya." His hand rested on your shoulder. You hummed and nodded, still sheepish despite his reassurance. "Go on, I'll meet you at the poolside."

With that you both parted ways, heading to your respective locker rooms.

 

Thankfully, the locker rooms had an abundance of cubicles for you to strip down in privacy. Tugging your towel and flip-flops from your duffel bag, and ensuring your clothing was safely stowed, you were more or less ready. Wriggling your feet into the flip-flops, you unlocked your cubicle and made your way over to your locker, your footwear making a squeaking, slapping noise against the textured floor tiles. After locking your possessions away, with a deep breath, you followed the small signs for the pool. A quick glance at yourself in the mirror to double check that your swimming costume had not suddenly ridden up obscenely or had not somehow shrunk in the past sixty seconds, you walked on.

 Entering the high-ceilinged room, with the huge pool at its centre, the moist air and the strong smell of chlorine, a little flutter of panic gripped your belly. You looked around anxiously, praying you would see the six foot one, broad shouldered frame of Dean Winchester, waiting near the pool for you. Almost as soon as your anxiety began to quicken your pulse and twist your gut, you saw a tall man with a beautiful back and tawny hair-

He turned around, and lo and behold, it was the very man you'd been scanning the room for. His face lit up, a dashing smile appearing in place of the netural expression that had been there a few moments before.

Quickly heading towards him (as quickly as your ungainly flip-flops would allow), you clutched your towel to your front, still nervous of being seen in a swimsuit. Especially given how freaking _**good**_ Dean looked in swimming trunks. Granted, you'd seen him nude, but there were details you'd missed out on; like the fact he was slightly bow-legged, which simulatenously endeared him to you and made him even more attractive.

 

"Hey, sweetheart, ready for your lesson?" Dean held his hands out, looking at you with mischievous glee.

"Ah, yeah, I think," you giggled shakily. Dean reached for your towel, wordlessly offering to put it aside for you. You passed the fluffy, white cotton bundle over to him, which he took and dropped, on a nearby seat, beside his own towel. As he came back over to you, you saw his eyes skitter over your body-

 _ **It's the swimsuit. It looks bad on me. I look bad in it,**_ you wrapped your arms around yourself, slowly, so as not to seem too overtly self-conscious.

"We should probably get in the pool, princess," Dean suggested lightly, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

"Yeah! Of course! Can't waste any time, right?" You turned on your heel, about to purposefully march towards the pool ladder- when Dean held onto your shoulder.

"Uh, sweetheart, not to cramp your style or anythin', but you might wanna take off the flip-flops first?"

Your face was suddenly _**very**_ warm.

 

It seemed wiser for Dean to enter the pool first, though it was slightly disheartening to see him swim out into the chlorinated waters so smoothly and confidently. Gradually stepping down the ladder, you felt the warm water lap at your skin and watched your legs disappear and distort under the surface. You were inordiantely grateful that there were very few people in the pool as it meant fewer sets of eyes taking notice of your inelegant movements and nervous demeanour.

Dean swam over to you, whilst you carefully lowered yourself into the water which, thankfully, was only just level with your chest. When he planted his feet on the floor of the swimming pool and stood straight, you saw that the water came to an inch or so below his waist.

"You feelin' okay, baby girl?" His voice was so tender and warm, you might have melted into a homogenous pile of goo if you weren't so anxious about being in a pool.

"I've been better, to be honest," you trembled as you spoke, body rigid with tension, "I'm scared I'll end up under the water."

"I'm here, [Y/N], I'm not gonna let you go under. If I see you start to struggle, I'll hold you up, okay? You ain't drownin' any time soon," Dean promised.

"Okay," you nodded, smiling at the sincerity of his words.

"C'mon, let's start ya with somethin' nice and simple," the older man guided you over toward the pool's edge, his hand brushing gently over your back. You shivered visibly at the light touch; praying silently that Dean would think it a mere response to your nerves. 

 

"Okay, hold onto the edge of the pool," Dean told you, keeping his voice calm and level. You did as he said, looking at him for the next instruction. "Awesome, now try and bring your body up. Let it kinda float upwards to the surface."

"Y-yeah, sure thing," you gulped. It wasn't difficult, but your heart did start to thump a little quicker as the water sloshed around your neck and chin.

"Good, you're doin' real good, sweetheart," Dean praised you.

"Thank you," you replied shyly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You wished these fears and anxieties would just give you a moment's respite, that they would actually be quelled by Dean's kindly reassurances and praise, but instead they pulled at you more voraciously.

"Alright, with ya still holdin' onto the edge, open your legs out a little and bring your knees forward-" Dean instructed, "-then kick 'em back, kinda like you're a frog."

"Such a glamorous look," you giggled.

"Who says frogs can't be glamorous, huh?" Dean teased, smirking. "C'mon, give it a try." Gingerly, you spread your legs out beneath the water, pulling your knees forward, then gave a strong kick back which propelled you towards the edge of the pool. Dean gave a jubilant whoop. "Hey, you got it! Do it a few times to get the hang of it. When you're actually puttin' it into practice, it's easy to over-think the motions, lose the rhythm and end up back on your feet, so we wanna make sure it's set in your mind so you don't _**have**_ to think about it."

"Sure thing," you nodded, slightly more confident under the handsome older man's tutelage.

"Also, for the record, when you're doing breaststroke I'd recommend you open your legs out wider 'cause it really helps with the pushin'," Dean advised.

Despite the amiable tone of his voice, the advice being helpful and the innocuous context in which said advice was given, you all but heard a filthy innuendo. Almost immediately, you then imagined Dean repeating the same words (barring the reference to breaststroke, of course) while ploughing into you, urging you to spread your legs wide for him...

 

You repeated the kicking motion for the breaststroke over and over until Dean was satisfied that you were maintaining a constant pace.

"Sweet, you're doin' real well! Which means we can't keep you on the edge forever, you're gonna have to let it go, princess," Dean said playfully. Seeing your expression drop from triumphant to fearful made him flash you a rueful smile.

"Oh, baby girl, don't give me that look. You're doin' great so far," he chuckled at you kindly. Planting your feet on the floor of the pool, you released your grip on the edge and waded out. Dean did a small backstroke away from you, putting some distance between you both, before finding his own footing on the pool's base.

"Shall I try swimming over to you, Dean?" You questioned him, nervously tangling your fingers together.

"Yep! Just do as much as you can, it doesn't matter if ya get all the way over to me or just a quarter of the length. Think of where I am now as bein' your goal, alright?" Dean directed, then briefly explained the motion required by your arms for the breaststroke.

"Okay, cool, got it! I can work with that," you nodded, sucking down a lungful of air.

"Good girl," Dean praised you softly. "Start when you feel ready, sweetheart. If you get nervous, just bring your feet down and you'll be okay. The water level doesn't change 'til you get further past the halfway point of the pool. If you start gettin' real anxious, you tell me straight away and we'll stop, okay? And I'll come over and give ya a big ol' hug." He gave you an adorable, lopsided grin that had your heart racing a little. With an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle, you readied yourself to start the breaststroke towards Dean.

 

The expression on his face was the biggest motivation; he seemed so genuinely determined for you to overcome your fears and so completely invested in you. You couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him by backing down. You believed that even if you failed to grasp the 'basics' of swimming, that you'd still make him _**proud**_ because you  _ **tried**_. Underneath the infatuation, the physical attraction and the lust, there was still that vulnerable girl who desperately craved unconditional love from a man, that girl who wanted to make a man feel proud of you and show you that acceptance you'd always felt deprived of.

Not only that, but you wanted to prove to yourself and that vindictive voice of self-doubt that you were perfectly capable of achieving that which you set your mind to. This moment was more than just learning to swim. This was about not allowing your anxieties dictate your life and making, not only Dean, but _**yourself**_ proud.

With that thought, you breathed in deeply and then heaved yourself up off the floor of the pool, placing your wrists back to back before sweeping your arms out in front of you and kicking your legs.

 

"Awesome, [Y/N], you're doin' it! C'mon, sweetheart, c'mon, you got this!" Dean was offering moral encouragment throughout. You did, unfortunately, become slightly uncoordinated, splashing audibly as your leg kicked out at an odd angle. Feeling slightly nervous, you stopped and planted your feet on the pool's floor again.

"S'okay, sweetheart, just take a sec to relax. You're doin' so good, [Y/N], try again as soon ya feel ready," your 'teacher' urged supportively.

"I'll-I'll try again. Just lost my rhythm there," you explained, and he simply nodded, complete understanding written on his face.

"Happens to everyone, don't worry about it, even professional swimmers make mistakes, doll," Dean assured you.

"Yeah," the word came out in a small breath. "Okay, I'll go for it again." You declared, pushing off with more agility than before, cutting through the water and kicking your legs; the muscles in your body being worked by the exertion. This time, you were thwarted by water sloshing into your face, submerging your mouth and nose for a few seconds. Dean jolted in the water, muscles twitching as he readied himself to come to your aid, but you recovered quickly- lifting your head up and continuing to breaststroke toward him.

 

 _ **I can do it! I can actually do it! I'm swimming!**_ You thought, totally elated. Powered by such positivity and Dean's delighted whoops and praise, you  _ **kept going**_. On and on you swam, until you  _ **moved around**_ Dean to swim past him.

"Yeah! You're doin' it! Good girl, [Y/N]!" He sounded so overjoyed, there were tears of pure happiness pricking your eyes. He swam alongside you, keeping close so he could help immediately if anything went wrong.

_**Keep swimming! C'mon, I can do this! I've got this!** _

"You are doin' _**so**_ good, sweetheart!" Came Dean's voice once more.

**_I am, I actually am!_ **

You shut your eyes and let your body move through the water, following the beat of your pulse like it were a metronome and the motions of your limbs the instruments playing to a rhythm. The muscles in your legs and arms ached, but it was a satisfying ache, a reward for your tenacity. The only sound you were really paying attention to was Dean's calls of celebration over your accomplishment. It wasn't until you bumped into something solid, initially thinking it another person in the pool and opened your eyes to realise you'd reached the other end of the pool.

_**Holy shit!** _

You'd swam a whole length, the sense of victory a euphoric feeling. That was until you also realised the water level was _**much deeper**_.

Clinging for dear life to the edge of the pool, terrified that your feet could not find any solid ground to settle upon, you whimpered. Barely seconds passed, however, until Dean came to your assistance; arms wrapping around you and holding you up, making it impossible for you to sink under the water. Shaking from the sudden scare, you held onto his tightly wound arms for comfort.

"Hey, it's okay, baby girl, I'm here. I got ya. You don't need to be scared, I got ya, nothin's gonna happen," his voice soothed you.

 

"You swam the whole length, [Y/N], you didn't even realise. I'm so damn proud of ya! I know it got scary just there, but you kept it together. I knew you could do it, sweetheart," Dean gushed, "That was some awesome swimmin' for someone who's never learned properly!"

"Thank you," you replied timidly, cheeks warming as you smiled. Your body beginning to feel more and more like jelly the longer Dean held you, his warm, bare chest pressed against your back, those strong arms protecting you from danger. He felt so good against you, you could have melted in his hold. Was this what it was like? To have a man embracing you, to have a lover's body against your own? Was it supposed to send butterflies to your stomach and have you aching for soft touches in places you'd only ever touched yourself? _**Most fucking likely**_ , you thought.

"Shall we get you up outta the pool? I think you deserve a break," Dean chuckled. You felt the reverberation within his chest against your back.

"Yeah, I wouldn't say 'no' to break, that's for sure," you concurred, your voice a little higher and breathier.

"Sweet! Here, lemme help you up, you can just push yourself up," his hands moved to your waist, while you stretched your arms out onto the tiling in preparation for a hasty clamber out of the pool. Attempting to find purchase on the wall of the pool, you tried heaving yourself up to no avail, slipping down again. Feeling rather embarrassed, you made light of the failed attempt.

"Well that was about as smooth as crunchy peanut butter. Sorry about that, Dean," you apologised, aware that you'd probably just rubbed your butt against his front while trying to push yourself out of the water and made him feel awkward in front of the other folks swimming.

"S'okay, sweetheart," he sounded oddly strained, perhaps because of the mild awkwardness of the situation?

"I'll get it right this time," you promised, noticing that Dean had pulled his lower body away by a few inches, "Again, I really am sorry." You reiterated, then pushed yourself up with more force, successfully enabling you to hoist yourself out of the pool.

 

After the momentary fiasco, you turned around to face Dean, sitting cross legged at the pool's edge. For modesty's sake, you rested your arms in such a way that they 'blocked' the view between your legs, as even thought you were completely covered it still somehow seemed indecent. Having recovered from the slight discomfort from earlier, Dean remained in the pool, at its edge, folding his arms on the tiling.

"How are ya feelin', [Y/N]?" He inquired, a cheerful smile on his face.

"Really good! I lost my cool at the end there, but I still feel like...I've taken a big step, if that makes sense?"

"You've accomplished somethin' which obviously meant a lot to ya, that _**is**_ a big step. I hope you're proud of yourself, sweetheart?"

"Definitely! I was thinking about that, before I swam that whole length. _**Gotta make myself proud, gotta make myself proud**_. I needed to prove to myself that: _**yeah**_ , I **can** do it, I can swim!" You told him, with a great beaming smile.

"You feel like you have then?" Dean's eyes were full of affection as he spoke, crinkling at the outer corners.

"Yes!" Your smile stretched into a delighted grin. The older man reached forward and patted your knee gently.

 

"Good! You should do. 'Scuse the language but- you did fuckin' brilliant, baby girl. I know I've already said it, but I really am so damn proud of ya!" If the emphatic tone of his voice wasn't enough to convince you, the expression on his face resonated his sincerity.

"Thank you, Dean, that means a lot to me," you answered bashfully. "Actually...I know this might sound kinda weird, but, um-"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I actually...I kinda tried to make you proud of me. I thought about quitting, then I thought how much that would disappoint you," you confessed, eyes dropping their gaze to the tiled flooring, "I really wanted you to be proud of me." It was in these moments, where the vulnerability slipped through the well hidden cracks. Where the scared, hurt little girl made herself known through the young woman's words. Worried it would be too intense for a man you'd not even known for a whole week, you didn't dare to look Dean in the face. Instead of an uncomfortable silence, you felt Dean's warm hand rest on your leg. Daring to meet his eye, you looked upon that same tender expression he reserved _**just for you**_ , his breath-taking green eyes focused intently on you  but yet so soft in their gaze.

"It's only been a few days since I met ya, baby girl, but y'know somethin'? **You** make me proud _**all**_   the time," were his words to you. In his face, you did indeed see pride, you saw affection and you saw something else...something you'd seen on your mom's face when you were doing something she found endearing-

You saw pure, bona fide love.

  


	10. I Like It When You Watch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back ;)

The day of your riding lesson arrived quickly, much to your delight. Nothing compared to the feel of a saddle beneath you nor that momentary connection between you and the horse, as you both worked in tandem to learn the disciplines of equestrianism. Dressing excitedly, you pulled your black jodhpurs up, threw your loose fitting t-shirt on and then stuffed your feet into a thick pair of socks. Cradling your riding hat in the crook of your arm, you practically skipped downstairs while calling to your mom-

"Hey, Mom, I'm almost ready! Are you good to go?" You asked, padding into the living room to find her and Dean talking.

"Hi, hun, Dean's offered to take you for your lesson. You okay with that? I'm sure you're _**utterly heartbroken**_ at the thought, so don't worry- you take your time," she grinned at you. Giving her a reproachful raise of the eyebrow, your mother's grin turned to a smirk. You knew she was aware of your crush on Dean, and probably just teasing you affectionately, in the belief that you'd be adamant against Dean 'discovering' your infatuation. Obviously, she had no clue that you'd heard her telling Dean, so there was no secret to be kept hidden.

Even if your mom hadn't divulged the information, Dean would have probably figured it out soon enough anyway.

"I don't know what you're trying to say, Mom, but I'm sensing some _**insinuating**_ going on here," you huffed, placing your riding hat on with dignified contempt; though the effect was rather ruined by your involuntary pout.

"You're so adorable when you pretend to be annoyed," she ribbed you playfully, poking you gently in the stomach which made you squeak and giggle.

 

"I wasn't pretending!" You insisted through a shrill laugh, defending your sensitive belly. "For real though, I'm cool Dean with taking me," you said, acting naturally.

"There's a surprise," your mom chuckled softly.

"Ha ha," you gave a sarcastic laugh, "You sure, Dean? I mean, the road leading up to the riding school is basically just dirt. I didn't think you'd want the Impala getting all gross and muddy?"

"I'm willin' to make the sacrifice, sweetheart," Dean assured you, "Besides, she needs cleanin' some time soon."

"Well, I could clean her for you, then? All it takes is soapy water, a sponge and a bucket, right? I could do that!" You suggested enthusiastically.

"Only if you want to, [Y/N], I really don't mind," he said, with an amused but fond smile on his face.

"I'll totally do it! Although there is a ninety five per cent chance I'll be singing 'Car Wash' while I do it," you conceded.

 

"Hey, whatever helps, you do what you gotta do," Dean raised his hands in resignation, giving a short huff of laughter. "Should we get goin'? I'm guessing you don't wanna be late for your lesson?"

"Whoo! Yes! Let's go! I need to get these legs round something sturdy!" You declared with naive determination, about to stride out of the living room to get your riding boots, but then decided to quickly rephrase your proud announcement, "Okay, that sounded bad- I'm just really looking forward to riding!" Your words were met with a smirk from Dean and a whoop of laughter from your mother.

"Yeah, sweetheart, just go put your boots on. I think you've dug yourself a little too deep here," he advised affectionately.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go do that... and try and salvage what remains of my dignity," you sighed.

"You still have some of that left?" Your mom asked mischievously.

"Oh, c'mon, Mom! What happened to having my back?! Mother-daughter loyalty, and all that jazz?"

"Honey, don't be naive," your mom rallied, leaving you to complain.

* * *

 Approaching your riding school, Dean's beloved Impala rocked slightly as he drove cautiously along the dirt road, the tyres crunching against the stone-chip littered surface. You winced every time a protruding branch tapped the beautiful, classical car.

"Dean, maybe we should take my mom's car next time? I feel like crying for you," you suggested light-heartedly.

"Not to sound like a jackass, but I might have to agree with you on that. I'm hurtin' on the inside. Every time we go over a bump, I think a piece o' me dies," he joked tragically.

"I'm so sorry," you apologised, shoulders hunched.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's fine, I'm just messin' with ya," he reached out to chuck you under the chin. "Hey, is this it?" Dean brought your attention to the riding school, which had come into view.

"Yeah! Just keep driving through the archway, there's places to park," you told him, bubbling with excitement.

"Sweet," he remarked, pulling into the school and manoeuvring into a space.

 

As soon as he switched off the ignition, you were raring to go, flinging the door open and springing out of the Impala. You heard Dean chuckle at your obvious enthusiasm, as you'd started bouncing up and down on the spot.

"C'mon, Dean, I've gotta show you Silhouette!" You said breathlessly, while the older man stepped out of his car.

"Silhouette?" He repeated, bemused frown in place.

"The horse I ride! She's _**beautiful**_!" You gestured frantically at him to follow you towards the stables.

"Lead the way," he smirked affectionately. You gave a short squeak and walked quickly ahead of him, eager to show off the gorgeous mare you'd been fortunate enough to ride for the past couple of years. There was also an odd sense of enjoyment at seeing Dean's fond amusement over your childlike exhilaration and his being so content to indulge you. It seemed as though he were genuinely happy to see _**you**_ so happy.

He strode toward you on those bandy legs of his, with a smile that could melt many a female (and the occasional male) heart. Another pupil of the school, a young woman who you'd guessed to be a few years older than yourself, emerged from the courtyard that was enclosed within the stables. She gave you a friendly smile...before catching sight of your 'prospective stepfather'; at which point, her expression was that of a woman utterly mesmirised.

You couldn't blame her. The man was ridiculously good looking.

Dean flashed her a charming smile, that managed to be warm but somehow non-flirtatious. "Mornin'," he acknowledged her politely, in that husky voice of his.

"M-morning," she replied, voice pitched higher than you'd heard on previous occasions. As soon as he'd walked past her, Dean grinned mischievously at you. _**Damn, he's a sly one,**_ you thought to yourself, smiling wryly.

 

Making a purposeful beeline for Silhouette's stable, you beckoned to Dean to follow close behind.

"Here she is," you announced in a sing-song, introducing your mother's boyfriend to the beautiful, proud mare-donning her bridle and saddle- in the stable. "Hi, Sili!" You cooed, reaching out to gently pet her neck.

"Whoa, she's pretty damn impressive," Dean took in the sight of the horse. Her coat was a magnificent, gleaming pure black, her long, ebony mane washed and carefully brushed so it fell gracefully over one side of her neck. Though you knew you were anthropomorphising her, you swore the mare held herself with dignity and poise, casting an occasionally supercilious eye over the 'two-legged creatures' who attended her.

Though she seemed rather more tolerant of you, proven by the gentle way in which she pushed her muzzle against you and nickered softly.

"How's it going, girl?" You said tenderly, stroking her cheek. Silhouette's ears pricked forward, her big, dark eyes regarding you calmly. "She's lovely. Feisty, at times, but I'm convinced she's got some Thoroughbred blood, so that's probably why." You told Dean with a beaming smile.

"Would she appreciate me sayin' hello?" Dean inquired hesitantly.

"I'm sure she would. Let her smell you first, don't pat her straight away. It'd be a bit like going up to someone you've never met and touching their face," you giggled.

"Wouldn't dream of doin' that! Not while sober, anyway," the older man joked, slowly approaching Silhouette.

 

You stepped to the side, watching the interaction. The mare flicked her head up, snorting loudly, chewing on the bit in her mouth so the metal clacked against her teeth. "Should I be backing off?" Dean asked.

"No, don't worry, she's just sizing you up," you explained teasingly.

"I'd say she's got the advantage here," he remarked, trying to disguise his mild concern with humour.

"It's okay, she did the same to me when I first met her," you reassured him. Silhouette ceased snorting and pushed her head forward, softly exhaling through her nose and blowing air at Dean.

"Is she...breathing on me?" Dean asked from the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the mare.

"Yeah. Now she's wondering if you're a friend. It'll sound weird, but try blowing air back," you recommended quietly.

"Um. Sure, yeah. Anythin' to keep the ladies happy, right?" He kidded, reluctantly breathing out through his nose against Silhouette's muzzle. The mare pulled her head back, turning it to the side and looking at Dean with one watchful eye, likely deducing whether he was friend or foe. "So...am I your type?" Dean asked the horse.

With almost perfect, comedic timing, Silhouette butted her head against Dean's chest and started sniffing the lining of his jacket, nipping at the material. You covered your mouth, making a feeble attempt at hiding a loud snigger. The mare then pulled her back and flicked her head upward again, oddly contemptuous, before turning around in her stable and swishing her long tail

 

"Can't smooth talk 'em all, can ya?" Dean sighed, while you stifled laughter.

"Nope, it's very hit and miss. She doesn't see you as a threat, that's for sure," you pointed out.

"Oh right?"

"She just doesn't respect you, is all," you added.

"Huh. Sounds like the majority of my past relationships," he remarked, earning a burst of melodic laughter from you.

"Are you getting flashbacks, Dean?" You inquired, wondering fleetingly where this surge of confidence had come from.

"Honestly, I kinda am... and it's freakin' me out," he pulled a face, "There I was thinkin' I was a hit with the ladies."

"You still are, just not with Sili," you assured him. Dean looked over at you, a particularly handsome smile on his lips. Before you had chance to contemplate the reason for the way he looked at you, a tall, young-ish looking man came striding over towards you.

 

Baffled, you made a quizzical face, which seemed to win a smile from the young man.

"Hello there," he greeted you, his Irish accent noticeable but smooth, "I know what you're thinking- 'Who's this funny lookin' Irishman? Where's my instructor?'." He joked lightly, immediately putting you at ease in his presence. Up close, you couldn't help but notice that he was rather attractive; slim face, dark hair, gentle brown eyes and an olive complexion. "I'm Connor, I'll be your new instructor for the next month. You've likely never seen me as I usually teach in the evenings, but Sandy and I have swapped shifts temporarily. I'm sorry we couldn't give you any advance warning, it was a pretty sudden change."

"Oh, that's okay," you said politely, with a warm smile, "Is everything okay with Sandy? Did she mention why she wanted to do evenings instead?"

"Family business, she didn't say much more than that," Connor shrugged, "So, you think you'll be alright having a different instructor?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll adapt," you grinned at him.

"Good to hear," came his reply, "Let's bring _**Lady**_ Silhouette out, shall we?" Connor patted Sili affectionately on the neck, pushing back the bolt on her stable door. "Come on out, you haughty little madam." He chastised her, the words softened by tenderness and the melodic lilt of his accent. Silhouette nickered at the handsome instructor.

 

"Sili seems to really like you," you observed, impressed by the male equestrian's affinity with one of the more prideful horses. You noticed Dean pull a slight face from the corner of your eye. Connor, meanwhile, chuckled at your words.

"'Like' is a strong word, I think. She puts up me with me and I fawn over her. If it works in her favour, she's a happy gal," he said, leading her out of the stable, "She's a fine one, isn't she? Once you've ridden her, there's no going back to any of the other horses."

"I know just what you mean. I used to be put with different horses, so it was pure chance I got given Sili one lesson. That was a year ago. I've not ridden any other horse since then," you breathed out in admiration. The new instructor appeared pleased with your shared reverance for the bond you both had with Silhouette.

"Well, how 'bout we get started on this lesson? You can show me how well you and Sil work together," Connor smiled at you, keen to stir your sense of determination. You nodded, beaming at him, before turning to Dean.

"Would you come and watch me, Dean? It'd be pretty awesome if you could stay. Only if you want to, of course! If you wanted to go back to the car, I could just-"

"I'll stay with ya, sweetheart," the older man quelled your concerns, laying a hand on your upper back.

* * *

 

 "...alright, [Y/N], when you get to the corner, I want you to go into the canter for me- that's it! Perfect!" Connor's voice called out to you in the outside arena. Leaning back slightly in the saddle, you let your body move with the rocking motion of Silhouette's flowing canter. With every beat she snorted, the way an athlete would huff out a breath while running.

"Good girl, perfect! Make sure you stay in that saddle, don't let yourself move around in it! Alright, when you get to the top end of the arena, I want you to come down through the centre and give me a nice clean jump!" Connor gave the command clearly, coming to a stand still from his steady pacing, hands clasped behind his back. You made an effort not to glance at his long legs and groin, encased snugly in his jodhpurs, focusing instead on your riding. Twisting slightly in the saddle, pulling back a leg to support the mare in the sharp turn, and with a gentle twitch of the reins, you took Silhouette down through the centre of the arena. Heart pounding in tandem with your horse's hooves, you readied yourself for the jump.

Leaning forward in the saddle and lifting yourself a couple of inches above the saddle, stomach braced for the slight lurching sensation, you felt Silhouette push herself from her back legs. While she leapt smoothly over the jump, the air whisked past your ears. Silhouette landed gracefully (and safely) and the both of you cantered forward.

"Excellent! That was a beautiful jump! Come down to the rising trot for me, [Y/N]," Connor requested. As instructed, you pulled back lightly on the reins, waiting for Sili to drop her gait before 'bouncing' in rhythm with the trot. Thigh muscles aching and body tired, you knew this lesson had been excellent. Connor had pushed you past your previously set limit, and while thoroughly exhausting, you were appreciative of the challenge.

 

You were breathing heavily, sweat beading on your face, hair sticky beneath the riding hat.

"I'll let you have a rest, I think. Go into the walk and catch your breath," your instructor said, with an amiable chuckle. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah...just pretty tired out...it feels good, though!" You grinned over at him.

"It gives you a bit of a rush, doesn't it?" Connor remarked. "Have you been this tired out before?"

"Yeah, but not for a while. I think Sandy was too kind with me," you conceded.

"Was she now? We'll not be having any o' that anymore! If you're not tired by the end of my lessons, it's not been a proper lesson," your instructor said firmly but pleasantly. Your face split into another cheerful grin, one which you shared not only with Connor, but with Dean as you wandered past him. He'd been standing by the entrance of the arena, leaning forward on the fence resting his upper body weight on folded arms.

"Okay, [Y/N], if you bring Silhouette into the centre, you can come to the halt and dismount," Connor instructed softly.

 

Swinging your leg over Silhouette's rump, you were able to slide off the saddle with ease and land with relative grace on the ground. You patted Sili gently above her shoulder and praised her for working so well with you.

"I think it's safe to say you're a natural in the saddle, [Y/N]. I'll make sure to work you extra hard these next few weeks," Connor said, grasping the reins of Silhouette's bridle where they almost met the bit. You had to bite at the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from making a strange face at Connor's unintentional innuendo. "Well done, [Y/N], you rode wonderfully." He praised you sincerely.

"Thank you," you replied bashfully, scuffing at the soft with the toe of your boot. The instructor must have picked up on something, as he smiled at you.

"Right then, time for this haughty madam to go back to her stable. I'll be seeing you next week, [Y/N]. Try not to get into too much trouble 'til then," he winked playfully at you, giving your shoulder a small squeeze, before leading Silhouette out of the arena.

"Thanks, Connor. See you next week," you called after him. The male equestrian waved jauntily over at you, before disappearing with Sili into the stable courtyard. With a soft sigh, you ambled out of the arena, beaming delightedly. Dean was waiting by the gate, something slightly off about his demeanour. He appeared almost agitated, not quite meeting your eye.

 

"Ready to go, sweetheart?" He inquired, already walking on and fishing around his jacket pocket for the keys to his car.

"Yeah," you replied faintly, following in suit, a peaceful smile on your face.

"You looked good up on the horse, baby girl. I don't know anythin' about riding, but from that guy was sayin', you did an awesome job," he said, head turned at an angle to speak to you as you walked behind him.

"Thank you, Dean," you said sweetly, cheeks warm from his compliment. Passing through the courtyard, you spotted Connor- in Silhouette's stable-removing her tack. As he heaved the heavy saddle onto the stable door, he flashed you a charming smile, which made you giggle shyly and grin over at him. Connor really was handsome...

Dean, however, was the one who'd stolen your heart.

* * *

In the car, returning home, Dean was uncharacteristically quiet; focusing intently on the road ahead, brow furrowed as though he were frowning. Seeing such an expression on his face was unsettling, to say the least, given how rare it was for you to notice him showing any signs of annoyance or anger.

"Um, Dean, are you okay?" You asked, timid all of a sudden.

"Yeah, princess, just...thinkin' about things," was his reply.

"You're not...you're not mad at me for something, are you?" You dared to ask, your voice tiny and weak; verging on inaudible.

"Why would I be mad at you, [Y/N]?" He retorted, with a small smirk.

"I don't know...I thought maybe I'd done something...and that's why you weren't speaking to me like you usually do," you shrugged, feeling awkward and stupid for making such a strange inquiry. Dean turned his head momentarily to cast you a reassuring smile.

"You haven't done anythin', sweetheart. You're gettin' worried over nothing," he told you, "It's like I said, I'm just thinkin' about stuff."

"Oh okay," you nodded, feeling like a meek, frightened little child in the body of an eighteen year old. Without another word, you turned your head to the side and began gazing out of the window, not really paying any attention to the rolling vistas of passing scenery.

 

"So, what did ya think of your new instructor, huh?" Dean's deep, husky voice broke the rather tense silence within the car. The very second you'd heard his voice, you twisted your head to look at him.

"Oh-Connor seemed really good! I liked his style and the way he kept pushing me to do better, y'know. I appreciate that from an instructor, makes me feel like I've gotten the most out of a lesson," you said cheerfully.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged, "I could tell you took a shine to him."

"For sure, he seems like a nice guy. I've had instructors who've had a weird attitude, so it makes a pleasant change to have someone so easy to get along with," you told him, smiling.

"So would ya say he's been the best so far?"

"He's _**one**_ of the best instructors I've had. I can't judge at the moment, I've only had him for one session. I'll need a couple more lessons with him to decide," you said.

"You've only got the month with him, though. Damn shame if he's the best you've had and you only get a month with him," Dean remarked, a slight unwarranted nonchalance in his tone.

"It would be. I could see if he'd be willing to give me an evening session if it came to that?" You speculated.

"Yeah, you could do," Dean conceded impassively.

 

"You don't like him, do you?" You questioned the older man, curiosity taking you in its grip.

"Can't say if I do or don't, princess, I've not spoken to him," Dean dodged the question casually. Besotted as you were with the green-eyed man, you could be as stubborn as a dog with a bone when it came to matters such as these.

"Why don't you like him? I can tell you don't. I may be young, but I'm not **_that_**   naive," you probed. Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, unfamiliar with this sharp edge to your otherwise genial personality.

"Have you ever just...not liked someone for no good reason? That's what this is," he said.

"I think there is a reason, you're just not telling me," you huffed. The older man laughed at your comment, shaking his head at your persistence.

"Would it really make a difference if I told you why I don't like him, princess?" He gave you a look, akin to a parent humouring their child.

"Well, yeah. It would mean...that you trust me! Enough to confide in me the reason you don't like Connor," you argued.

"I do trust you, [Y/N]. But I also think you don't need to worry about my opinion of someone you obviously enjoy bein' around-"

"-you make it sound like I'm in love with the guy!" You snorted with laughter.

 

Dean threw a knowing glance in your direction.

"Not 'in love'. _**Infatuated**_ , I'd say," he muttered slyly.

"Infatu-oh my gosh, no!" You yelped, making Dean hoot with laughter. "No! No no no! I mean, he's really sweet and all, and funny...and he's good-looking, sure, and the accent's awesome-"

"Wanna add anything else to that list, huh?"

"No, it's not like that! _**Dean**_!" You chastised him, pouting and folding your arms across your chest. Meanwhile, Dean was laughing at your embarrassment.

"You two were in your own little bubble for a moment. I thought you were gonna ride off together into a sunset," he teased you, "I'd have to explain to your mom why I didn't bring ya back. ' _ **Sorry, honey, your daughter decided to run away with the hunky, Irish riding instructor**_ '."

"Oh c'mon!" You whined, trying to hold back a peal of laughter.

"I mean, I guess there's a novelty in having a dude teach riding. Makes him extra appealing, right?" Dean flashed a crooked smile your way. By way of a dignified response, you pressed your lips together tightly.

"Not funny!" You insisted.

"Plus, I guess it's nice to be able check out a guys's front and back package in those tight riding pants-" he added raffishly, making you burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god, Dean, stop, no more!" You pleaded through laughter. It felt distinctly awkward to be discussing a man you found attractive with the man you were utterly smitten with.

 

"So, you do have a thing for him, right?" Dean inquired, something a tad brittle in his tone. You sighed, laying your face in your hands for a brief moment, then raised your head to explain to him.

"He's attractive, yes, and I like his personality. But I don't have a crush on him, if that's what you're asking. I would, maybe, if I didn't already-" Your sentence came to a halt as you opted to say no further. _**I already have a crush on you, Dean, and you know it because my mom told you, but you would have figured it out anyway**_ , your mind filled the dead air.

"Okay, princess, I believe ya," Dean smiled at you, "I shouldn't have teased you so much, that was kinda harsh."

"Eh, it's fine. Teasing me is a sign we're getting closer," you said.

"You think so?" Dean asked.

"Absolutely," you chirped vivaciously, shuffling towards him to snuggle into his side. Without a second's thought, Dean gently wrapped an arm around you. "Y'know, I bet you've only been teasing me because you're secretly jealous."

"What makes you think that?"

"You think I'll prefer Connor as a teacher. But you'll be always be my favourite teacher, Dean," you spoke softly, reminding him of how he helped you overcome your fear of swimming. Some comfortable silence followed your words, broken by a gentle reply.

"Thank you, baby girl. That means a lot."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 In case anyone's curious, the visual inspiration for the character of Connor is based on the actor Killian Scott. I've become besotted with this gorgeous man since seeing him in Ripper Street XD hope some of you can share my appreciation!

                                                                                    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's really curious about why I disappeared for a while, feel free to ask and I'll answer in the comments- it's really nothing very interesting, to be perfectly honest. I just can't be bothered to explain in the chapter notes XD


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